


Devil in the Details

by captive_hetalian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Violence, But I will be killing your faves, I probably shouldn't have to say this when one of them is a serial killer, I want to make an attempt, I'll try my best to keep it mild anyway, I've made a decision, M/M, Mild Gore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Unhealthy Relationships, and make this a Beautiful Disaster of Self Destruction, but this is not a healthy relationship dynamic, kinda thing between Al and Ivan, so like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25951963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captive_hetalian/pseuds/captive_hetalian
Summary: Ivan agrees to go on a date with a guy he'd never met before, one Alfred F. Williams. At first, he seems like the perfect boyfriend. He's doting and supportive, and he helps Ivan fine-tune the details in his first crime fiction manuscript, which soon after is picked up by an agent and then a publisher. Everything is falling into place, but it all falls sideways when Ivan ends up questioned by police. His book, inspired by the killings of what looks to be a rising serial killer in western Washington, holds details that had never been released to the public.Ivan's mind is reeling as he seeks answers. He knows he didn't kill those people, and he refuses to believe his sweet, caring boyfriend could ever do something so heinous. But as evidence keeps stacking up, and too many questions go unanswered, Ivan might have to admit that he'd fallen in love with a monster.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Belarus/Lithuania (Hetalia), Belgium/Ukraine (Hetalia), Canada/Female Cuba (Hetalia), Secondary:
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Late for a Date

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of sexual harassment when Kateryna looks at the picture on Ivan's phone.
> 
> Blanche = nyo!Cameroon  
> Malai = nyo!Thailand
> 
> Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr, where a serial killer and a writer end up getting set up on a date, but I replaced the dating app with a mutual friend. It won't be as humorous as the prompt implies, though, because I'm not funny. So get ready for drama.

Ivan couldn’t believe he’d let Yao talk him into this. He hadn’t been on a date since before burning his savings by attending grad school.

As Kateryna mussed his hair while Natalya tossed aside bottles of cologne testers after sniffing them.

“Is your nose broken?” Natalya muttered, dropping two bottles into the trash. “Oh, don’t complain. You got these free, anyway, and why do companies think  _ musk _ is an attractive smell?”

“I like it,” Kateryna murmured, blush dusting her cheeks as she used enough hair spray to harden Ivan’s hair into a helmet. “Manon thinks it smells good, too.”

Natalya made a sound that could be interpreted as concession; she did it when she disagreed or wanted to continue her point but decided ultimately that she didn’t want to put in the energy. It was only an hour ago she’d argued with Kateryna about how a hotdog wasn’t a sandwich, and she probably didn’t want to get into another stupid fight so soon after.

“That’s enough,” Ivan coughed, snatching the can of hairspray from his older sister’s hands. “ _ More _ than enough.”

He capped the can and set it aside, but when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he paused. Behind him, Kateryna wore a huge grin and crossed her arms over her chest, nearly flat thanks to her binder. After layers of texturizer and hair spray, she’d managed to get Ivan’s fine, silvery-blond hair to hold a curl—well, waves. She’d parted it on one side, Kateryna’s handiwork keeping the locks pushed up so it was out of his face for once. Ivan’s hair looked stylishly messy rather than like an emo skater boy’s bedhead, and with it out of his face, his indigo eyes stood out more, looking bright purple in the direct light of the bulbs lining Natalya’s vanity mirror.

“This one,” said Natalya, holding up a rectangular, black bottle. “Ooh, nice. ‘Saloon.’ Aww, this is the one  _ I _ got you off Etsy—and it’s still full, how dare you.”

“Natalya, Kat already made me flammable—”

Before Ivan could finish, his younger sister sprayed him with the cologne bottle with a sweep, a cloud hitting his neck and jaw. Ivan coughed again but this time more to make a point. Natayla ignored him, however, dropping the small bottle back into the box she’d brought from Ivan’s room.

“You’re ready,” she said as Kateryna tied Ivan’s grey silk tie.

Since she wore these things more than Ivan did, she’d taken time to learn different styles and explained she was tying a vidalia knot. Ivan had already tuned her out, though, securing the metal tabs that ran down the front of his grey-and-black corset vest; thin, silver ribbon criss-crossed down the length of his back. He then messed with his D-20 cufflinks, rolling his eyes when Natalya told him to stop being nervous.

“I’m not nervous,” he grumbled, more out of a need to disagree than a need to be believed.

“Mm-hmm,” Natayla hummed as Kateryna assured him that he’d be fine.

She worked the tie into place and tucked it into Ivan’s vest. Natalya handed her Ivan’s tie clip, which was designed to resemble the molecular structure of caffeine, Ivan’s lifeblood as a full-time writer.

Attempts at being a full-time writer, anyway. He’d only been able to get a few short stories and articles published so far and felt as though he were miles from his goal of being a well-known crime fiction novelist.

_ Not tonight _ , Ivan told his anxiety.

Even if he wasn’t as successful as he thought he should be at twenty-eight, he still had value. Or, at least, that’s what his therapist, Dr. Romano Vargas, had been trying to make him tell himself for the past year.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and Kateryna smiled again.

“What’s his name again?” Natalya asked as Kateryna said, “Call me to pick you up if you drink too much.”

“I will,” Ivan promised as he pulled his cellphone out of his back pocket.

He went to Instagram and searched Alfred's username. He clicked on his last post, which was a repost of a picture from three years ago with  _ #lateTBT _ in the description.

“His name’s Alfred Williams. He and Yao met in high school and reconnected when Alfred moved back here.” He clicked on the picture Yao had sent him and showed Natalya, raising his eyebrows when she wolf-whistled.

“Mind if Tadas and I borrow him sometime?” she asked innocently, smirking when Ivan's face flashed red as he splattered a "No" while putting his phone away.

The picture was of Alfred back in college, which he attended on a partial scholarship as a competitive swimmer. The picture was from a party after Alfred nearly beat the swimmer from their rival school, losing by only a tenth of a second. He was shirtless with a fist in the air as he was lifted up onto the shoulders of two guys Ivan assumed to be his teammates. One of the guys watched him with obvious attraction.

Tagged in the description were cheese.danish and lutz_xX. Ivan knew that cheese.danish was Mathias Abildgaard, Alfred’s ex, who’d commented on the post that he missed those days and everyone—prompting comments below telling Mathias that they missed him too and hoped he was having fun in Denmark. Mathias had moved there to teach English, which was why he and Alfred had ended up breaking up last year.

Ivan understood. He and Louis had broken up for a similar reason four years ago. Louis had managed what few of them could and got a job in his field right after college, moving down to southern California barely a month after getting his diploma.

Kateryna hummed when she looked at the picture, and Ivan quickly pocketed his phone.

“Text me if he’s a jerk,” she said, and Ivan sighed.

“I will,” Ivan said instead of arguing.

He understood Kateryna’s reluctance to trust jock guys, even those in the gay community—sometimes especially the ones in the gay community. Those “masc4masc” guys were usually the first ones to make fun of her weight or grab her breasts without consent, waiving away her objections with, “Relax, sweaty, I’m gay. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Good luck,” said Natalya as she left, returning the colognes she hadn’t thrown away to his room upstairs. “Now beat it! I have my own date to get ready for!”

Stopping himself from combing his hair back with his fingers, Ivan followed Kateryna out of Natalya’s bedroom. “Tadas is such a simp,” he called up, “he’ll still be at the restaurant until it closes waiting for you.”

“He’d probably try to keep it open just for her,” Kateryna added, making Ivan laugh as Natalya barked out a sarcastic “Ha-ha!”

It took almost an hour to reach Twinkle City, thanks to some truck driver who didn’t know how to drive in the rain shutting down the Five. Thankfully, Ivan had heeded Kateryna’s advice and had left early, so he reached Blue Flower only a few minutes late. There were even some open spots on Davis Street; by the time he’d pulled out his phone and powered up the app, he remembered that parking downtown was free on weekends.

He didn’t see Alfred at the bar or tables when he walked in, so Ivan pulled out his phone, stomach twisting into knots. He expected to see a text from Alfred saying he’d changed his mind. He almost didn’t open his messaging app.

Swallowing, Ivan stepped aside when a couple, one person wearing a pride flag as a cape, walked in and headed towards the staircase in the back that led to the club upstairs. He finally went to his texts, selecting Alfred’s name.

_ Sorry, running late _ , he’d sent, and Ivan held his breath as three dots appeared.

_ Interrogation was changed last-minute, and I didn’t want to smell like blood on our date. Feel free to order for both of us. I’m not picky :) _

Ivan blinked at the mention of blood before remembering Alfred had mentioned before he had an interview set up for a job at a butcher shop. His stomach unknotted, and he looked up as the hostess if he was waiting on someone.

“I am,” he answered, “but he should be here soon. Can I go ahead and look at the menu?”

“Sure!” The tall girl adjusted her wire-framed glasses and smiled brightly. She wore metallic purple lipstick and glittery eyeshadow, and a lotus shape was shaved into the side of her head. “My name’s Blanche, and I’ll sit you in Malai’s section over here, and they’ll be right with you.”

She led Ivan to a two-seat table not far from the staircase, close enough for him to hear the dance music but not to where it was too distracting.

“Thank you,” he said as Blanche pulled out a chair for him and complimented his waistcoat. “It was a gift from my sisters last Christmas.”

“That’s so sweet!” Blanche’s smile was so genuine that it helped put Ivan more at ease. “Well, I’ll leave you to Malai, and I’ll bring over…?”

“Alfred Williams,” Ivan supplied.

“Alfred when he gets here,” Blanche continued before skipping off to the entrance to greet a group of people by name as they came inside.

A short person wearing a  _ They/Them _ button on their apron approached, smiling. They had an undercut, the rest of their midnight hair piled atop their head in a neat bun that had silver chopsticks keeping it in place.

“Know what you’d like to drink?” they asked, voice sounding as though it had recently started cracking. Malai pushed their pink framed glasses up their flat-bridged nose and took out a memo pad and fountain pen.

“A lemon drop for me, please,” Ivan answered, looking over the cocktail menu. He thought he remembered either Alfred or Yao telling him before that Alfred usually liked whiskey drinks. “And a John Collins for my date. He should be here in a few minutes.”

“Would you like me to hold off on the John Collins until he gets here?” Malai asked after jotting down the drink order. “That way the ice doesn’t melt and water it down.”

“That sounds good, thank you.”

Smiling a bit wider, Malai said, “You’ll be fine, hon.”

“Thanks.” Ivan’s smile wavered. “It’s just been a while.”

“Been there,” Malai chuckled. “Took a long break after the guy I was with for almost ten years just, eh, we’ll say didn’t work out. It can feel like going out for the first time all over again. Anyway, you and the lucky person are in good hands. I’ll even see if I can talk Chef into allowing a discount for dessert.”

Blinking, Ivan waved his hands in front of him. “Oh, that’s really generous; you don’t have—”

“It’s no problem, sweetie,” Malai assured, sticking their pen behind their ear. “I’ll be back in a bit with your lemon drop. Do you know what you want to eat now, or do you want to wait for the lucky person?”

“I can order now.” Ivan smiled. “He said he was okay with anything.”

“Alright!” Malai took their pen from behind their ear again and jotted down notes as Ivan ordered dinner for himself and Alfred. “Sounds good. I’ll be back soon with your drink!”

As they headed towards the swinging door that led to the kitchen, Malai asked other patrons if they were enjoying their meals, and they asked one of the couples if they were going to party upstairs when they were done.

“Only if you join us!” one of the girls called, and Malai whirled around in a circle and posed, bowing when a few patrons clapped.

Ivan eased into his chair—much as he could wearing a corset—as he looked around the restaurant. He’d lived on campus of the college only three blocks from here but had never stepped foot into Blue Flowers before tonight.

He’d spent years denying that he was attracted to men. Being bi and raised Orthodox Christian, he’d assumed everyone was attracted to any gender and had to choose to be straight. With the priest and everyone at church proclaiming that being gay was the wrong choice, this had felt like the most logical conclusion. His view didn’t start to change until he was in middle school, when he talked to Kateryna after finding out she’d been secretly dating girls.

Unfortunately, the talk had resulted in a fight that had both of them in tears by the end, but if he hadn’t seen first-hand how damaging their church’s views were to his older sister, he’d probably still struggle with his own attractions. Lord knew he still struggled to accept himself, even without worrying about whether or not he was making the right “choice” in regards to his sexuality.

There was a pang in Ivan’s heart at the thought, but it was hard not to smile at the paintings and photographs hanging on the exposed brick walls. The photograph near Ivan’s table was of Anita Bryant after a pie had been shoved against her face in a famous zap. Underneath was a laminated card with information about the incident as well as mentions of other zaps done to call attention to queer rights.

Higher and on either side of the photograph were large paintings, both one watercolor and one oil. The watercolor one was done by someone named Marianne Bonnefoy and had a nude man walking tip-toe over water, looking down at a reflection of a woman. The flowers in the foreground were white, pastel blue, or pink.

Malai returned with Ivan’s lemon drop and said the food would get started on soon.

As they left again, blowing a kiss to another customer, Ivan heard his phone vibrate against the table.

There was a new text from Alfred:  _ SiL insisted I didn’t look ready for a date and is making me sit while she does my hair. She promises it’ll take only 5 minutes, which means it’ll take at least 10… I’m SOSOSOSOSO sorry! _

There were six crying emojis in a row, followed by,  _ I will pay for both our bills as apology. Please wait for me? _

He sounded sincere, and Ivan related to the situation, after Kateryna insisted on spending almost twenty minutes on his own hair. Alfred had mentioned when they first started texting yesterday that he lived with his brother, Matthew, and his sister-in-law, Rosa, who were expecting their second child.

_ I’ll still be here _ , Ivan sent, not wanting to wait too long before responding. He knew if it was him, he’d be staring at his phone’s screen, waiting for a reply.  _ I’ll take you up on paying for our food, but I insist on paying for our drinks. You also owe me a dance upstairs when we’re done. _

Alfred’s response was almost immediate:  _ Deal. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cologne Natalya mentioned is from The Parlor Company on Etsy.


	2. Alfred's Arrival

Ivan told Malai the situation when they came by again, and they assured they’d explain what was going on to Chef, so Ivan wouldn’t have to worry about his and Alfred’s food getting cold before he arrived.

“Want something to snack on in the meantime?” they offered.

At the next table, a person wearing a mask painted like the agender flag over the upper part of their face suggested, “Get the dolmas. They’re really good.”

Across from them was a man wearing buttons on his denim jacket; the first ones Ivan noticed were the _he/him_ button, the _Be Gay Do Crimes_ one, and a large one with a Molotov cocktail in the center with _Keep Warm Burn the Rich_ printed around it. He wore a bright smile, golden-brown eyes shining even through the shadow cast by his shaggy, red-brown hair.

“Do you want us to keep you some company?” he asked.

When Ivan hesitated, Malai excusing themselves to talk to Chef, the masked person offered, “Really, it’s no big deal, and this place is for meeting people in the community, right?”

Letting himself ease up, Ivan smiled and nodded. “Right. Thanks. It’s my first date in a while, and I’ve been a bit nervous. Oh, I’m Ivan, by the way.”

“Sadık,” the masked person replied, sticking out a hand.

As Ivan took it, the other person said, “I’m Feliciano. It’s nice to meet you! Do you go to TU?”

“Used to,” Ivan said, turning slightly in his chair, so it was easier to speak to Sadık and Feliciano. “I graduated a while ago. How about you?”

“Still working on my film degree.” Feliciano smiled brightly, but his eyes looked tired when he said it. “But I’m applying for law school at Washington, Brigham Young, and Lewis and Clark. And Stanford at my mom’s request. She’s way more optimistic when it comes to my grades than me, and my nonno’s hoping at least one of his grandkids will end up at his firm.”

“I’m a YA author,” Sadık offered with a shrug. “I pay my share of rent by working as a park ranger, though.”

“That’s really cool,” Ivan said, looking first to Feliciano. “My younger sister took philosophy of law last quarter, and I think she’s mentioned you. Her name’s Natalya Chernenko.”

Feliciano’s face brightened even more. “Oh, she’s a sweetheart!”

“Really?” Ivan laughed, making Sadık snort.

Chuckling, Feliciano said, “Well, usually. She’s been sent out for fighting a couple times, but both of those times was the other person’s fault for starting it, and I really like how hard she stands up for herself. I think it’s admirable.”

“So long as she isn’t pouring paint thinner in another student’s lap before holding up a lighter in front of her face.” He looked at Sadık when their hazel-green eyes bugged out from behind their mask, and Feliciano’s eyes were wide, too. “That one actually happened in high school. I’m _still_ surprised she didn’t get expelled. Compared to then, she’s actually gotten a _lot_ calmer.”

Ivan and Kateryna still teased Natalya that she was the reason the family had needed to move out of Everson.

“ _Sounds_ like it,” Sadık replied, hand over their mouth as they tried not to laugh. Once they’d settled down, though, they drank the last of their red wine. “So how about you?”

“I’m a writer, too,” Ivan said after a sip of his lemon drop. “Quit my retail job earlier this year, since I’m making just enough from my short stories and articles to cover my share of the bills and don’t really like having to get up so early to commute, and I’m trying to find an agent for my first book.”

“What genre?” Sadık asked. “I might know someone.”

“Crime thriller. Agents so far have been telling me ‘not right for my list’ or ‘didn’t connect.’”

Nodding, Sadık said, “Code for ‘the story doesn’t really keep my attention’ and ‘you need to work on the craft,’ respectively. I’m guessing you’re publishing adult fiction.” They smiled when Ivan nodded. “You got a bit more of an uphill battle than I do. YA’s become more saturated, but it’s still easier to get an agent and healthy-sized check up-front. Maybe give your manuscript another couple read-throughs, see if there’s anything you can fine-tune with the narration, really punch with those emotions. That’s what really drives a thriller, right?”

“Yeah…” Ivan nodded. “My older sister’s reading it, too, for another perspective, but she’s busy with her own writing and her day job.”

“She’s a fiction writer, too?”

“Non-fiction. She mainly writes articles for a few different LGBT magazines on the west coast and has also written articles for some anthologies, some that got studied the past couple years at TU, even.”

“Wow!” Feliciano exclaimed, and Sadık smiled as they said, “Way cool. I’d like to talk more later about writing, and I’m serious about helping lead you to some agents if you haven’t tried contacting them yet.”

Thanking them profusely, blush rose to Ivan’s face as he and Sadık exchanged numbers, and he followed them and Feliciano on Instagram, too. Sadık posted about their writing, and since they’d been part of BookTube for several years—Ivan promised to look for their videos, to which Sadık begged him to ignore all their videos before 2016—and received ARCs they’d also post about with short reviews in the description.

As Feliciano talked about one of the ARCs Sadık had let him read—an urban fantasy with a pack of lesbian werewolves making a pact with a tribe of vampires led by a genderqueer person that had once been nobility—Ivan looked up, attention caught by Blanche as she clapped and said, “Oh, he’s _right_ over here! Glad you could join us!”

“Is that him?” Feliciano whispered, leaning so far out of his chair that he looked about to fall out. He smirked when Ivan blushed. “Give him a wave and smile. Stand up when he gets here and give him a hug. I’m sure he’s just as nervous as you, especially after making you wait this long.”

As Feliciano talked, Alfred nearly ran into another patron, who said something and clapped Alfred on the shoulder before pulling him in for a hug. They exchanged a few words, the patron’s date chiming in at one point before they left, Alfred wishing them a good night before he turned and caught Ivan’s eye.

Swallowing, Ivan gave a nod and followed Feliciano’s advice.

When Alfred smiled, it lit up his entire face. His chestnut brown hair was slicked back, though a stray, rebellious lock had sprung up and bounced as he walked. He wore a navy, double-breasted waistcoat, a faint damask pattern decorating it. The sleeves of his black shirt poofed out as they swept down his arms and tucked into leather cuffs covering his wrists, and his black pants tucked into knee-high boots with two-inch high platforms and silver chains decorating the sides.

Even with the taller shoes, Alfred was still shorter than Ivan’s six-four height, and Ivan tried not to laugh at Sadık’s and Feliciano’s expressions when he got up to hug Alfred.

“Glad you’re here,” he said, and Alfred laughed as he and Ivan both took their seats.

“I’m seriously glad you’re here, too.” He turned to Feliciano and Sadık. “Hey, I’m Alfred. Are you Ivan’s bodyguards? I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Feliciano laughed, and Sadık slapped Ivan on the shoulder as they got up.

“Nah—sorry, Malai.” Sadık stepped aside to let the waiter through. “Feliciano and I were just keeping him company while he waited. Maybe we’ll see you both upstairs again later.”

Glancing at Ivan as his red-framed glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose a bit, Alfred said, “Well, I do owe someone a dance.”

“It’ll be fun!” Feliciano exclaimed. “Hope to see you guys soon!” He waved and grabbed Sadık’s hand, dragging them towards the spiral staircase.

Smiling, Malai set down the plate of dolmas. “Here’s the appetizer, and I’ll have the Chef get started on your entrees.” They looked at Alfred. “Your drink will be ready in just a moment. Does a John Collins sound good?”

Ivan was glad for the question and that Malai had had the wisdom to wait on having the drink made. He hadn’t been too sure it was something Alfred would like, but he was relieved when Alfred nodded.

“One of my favorites,” he said. “Thanks!”

“Of course! I’ll be back soon!” Malai headed towards the kitchen, pointing towards a hallway past the staircase when another patron asked where the restrooms were.

“What are these?” Alfred asked, picking up one of the six small wraps.

“Dolmas,” Ivan responded. “Sadık said they’re good. I think the menu said it’s rice wrapped in vine leaves.”

“One of the sauces looks kinda like soup.” Alfred took a bite after dipping the dolma into the small bowl of pale yellow sauce, which had what looked like bits of chicken in it. “Good, though. Wonder what the other one is.”

“It looks like a chili sauce,” Ivan said, choosing to dip his dolma into the yellow sauce as well. “I don’t do too good with spicy, though.” He chuckled nervously.

“Really? I _love_ spicy foods.” Alfred smiled and switched to using the chili sauce. After he swallowed the bite, he nodded. “Not too hot, but if you’re not used to heat, maybe stick to the other one. What kind of other foods do you like?”

They each shared the different dishes they’d grown up with, which led to sharing where they’d grown up. Alfred had lived in Twinkle City all his life before leaving for a small college town some distance southeast of Olympia and then returning when the mom-and-pop shop he’d worked for went out of business.

Ivan’s life was similarly uninteresting in terms of travel.

While born in Ukraine, his parents had moved to Washington when he was two, so he considered Everson his hometown. They moved to Blaine during his senior year of high school, and he’d moved back there during grad school when trying to find another apartment got to be too much of a pain in the ass.

“My dad wouldn’t ever let me move back in with him,” Alfred sighed. “I’m so glad Matt and Rosa were willing to take me in, but I’m pretty sure they wanted a free baby-sitter.”

Ivan laughed along with Alfred. “My parents are spending their retirement money travelling around the world, so my older sister and her wife actually moved into their old bedroom while they try to find a house they like closer to Seattle, since Manon really hates the commute.”

“They looking to live in Seattle or in a suburb?”

“They’re hoping to find a place in Kirkland or Bellevue. Possibly Redmond or Mercer Island. Depends on what houses are available. They’re both sick of renting. I can’t blame them.”

“Oh, you don’t have to convince me. I got lucky, finding some friends to rent a house with, so I didn’t have to live on campus anymore, but the landlord was an ass. Always talked like we were guilty of everything, just for being in college.” He sighed, looking angry just remembering. He took a breath, becoming calm again. “Sorry. You like staying in Blaine?”

Malai interrupted briefly to bring them their food, asking if they needed refills or new drinks. Ivan considered for a moment while Alfred asked to switch to water, since he was driving later.

“I can drive you home if you want to drink more,” he offered, smiling brightly. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so the police won’t care too much if your car’s left here overnight.”

Ivan thought about it, but when he caught Malai giving him a look before glancing Alfred’s way and back, Ivan gave in and said he’d take Alfred up on his offer.

He could always call Kateryna anyway, if he needed to, but he didn’t think he would. It was only a half-hour into the date, but Ivan already felt like he could spend all night with Alfred.

He’d definitely have to thank Yao later for introducing them to each other.


	3. Books for the Freezer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of death in the sections in italic; drug use mentioned near the start of the chapter (recreational weed is legal in Washington); and when Ivan's recommending books towards the end of the chapter, he mentions one that centers around a rape case (he only mentions the summary, though; he doesn't go into detail about the plot).

Ivan was much more attractive in person than he was in his selfies on Instagram. Alfred barely heard the hostess when she asked if he was eating alone or waiting for someone.

“Um.” He flushed, the red deepening when the hostess— _Blanche - she/her_ , her name tag read—followed his gaze and smiled. “I’m meeting someone…”

“Are you here to meet Ivan?” she asked, dark eyes glittering behind her glasses.

“Uh, yeah. First date.” Alfred kept glancing at the hardwood floor or exposed brick walls. Something about her gaze unnerved him, like she could see right through him.

“Oh, he’s _right_ over here! Glad you could join us!” Blanche clapped and started towards Ivan’s table. “Just follow me! He’s already ordered for you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfectly fine,” Alfred said, following Blanche closely and hitting her hand with his when he dodged a patron getting out of their chair. “Sorr—”

She jumped and kept her hands in front of her, shoulders hunched as she tried to make herself smaller.

“Sorry about that,” he tried again as the patron apologized for almost hitting him. “No problem, my guy. You and Maddie got a date with brownies tonight?”

Madeline, her long, dark brown hair done in twin braids tonight, laughed as Dmitri rolled his pale blue eyes.

“Cookies, actually, and with Imre and Julchen, too. We're playing some Jackbox games,” he said, “and you’d also be invited, if you’d bothered to call and let me know you were visiting, asshole.”

“Moving back, actually. Sorry I didn’t tell you guys; I’ve been up to my ears in applications, trying not to mooch off Matt and Rosa for too long. But, anyway, I’d have to turn you down,” said Alfred with a shrug. “Here for a date, and I promised him a dance.”

Dmitri looked to where Blanche was heading and clapped Alfred on the shoulder as Madeline jokingly admonished him for not bringing apology flowers for being late.

“He’s been here for, like, twenty minutes,” she said, tsking; however, her smile and glittering brown eyes ruined the effect she was going for.

At the same time, Dmitri said, “We’ll leave you to it, then, and Mads’s right. You’re gonna need to lay on that legendary charm if you’re going to make up for your late ass.”

They left after Madeline finished placing the salt shaker on top of the tip she’d left, and Alfred hurried to follow Blanche again, wondering about her suddenly strained smile as she pulled out the second chair for Alfred.

After seeing Dmitri and Madeline again after years of being away, and after Sadık’s and Feliciano’s reassuring smiles and words, Alfred felt much more at ease. Getting a last-minute job this morning had gotten him riled up to where he’d been ready to track down his overseer and put a bullet into his head, but he was here now.

And Ivan had waited.

_“When is the son-of-a-bitch supposed to show?” Alfred asked, bored as he waited in a deer stand. The crude plywood box had been nailed so it sat suspended halfway up a tree, but by the looks of it and the way the wood groaned at any weight pressing down onto it, Alfred wasn’t sure how much longer it would stay up._

_Camouflage netting draped over Alfred’s body as he was squatted in a way that let him look over the top lip of the box out to the clearing helped hide him among the leaves, and despite his intel, the clearing a few yards in front of him remained empty except for the occasional deer._

_“Patience, Icarus.” Avenger’s disguised voice buzzed in Alfred’s ear through the piece shoved in so deep that it was impossible for him to forget it was there. “The main road is full of speed traps, and there was a recent crash. He’ll be a while.”_

_Alfred only knew his overseer by his pseudonym, Avenger. It was given to him, because he specialized in only taking contracts that took out people that had hurt others. Alfred would have picked the name if he hadn’t already been told about him. Instead, he’d left it to Avenger to pick a moniker for him; he’d been known only as ‘the boyscout’ before then._

_It was better that way, in case either of them were to get caught. Hard to rat on someone you didn’t know the name or face of—Alfred didn’t even know Avenger’s voice._

_But based on the name Avenger had finally settled on calling him, Alfred suspected he knew about his… extracurricular activities._

_He didn’t bother hiding it, anyway. Not anymore. He once even decided to mix business with pleasure. Avenger hadn’t been happy with how long it had taken that hit to die—it raised the chances of her being able to talk, he’d warned Alfred—but otherwise, Avenger hadn’t had complaints._

_After all, what better way to hide the fact that someone’s death was a hit than by making it another notch in the belt for a budding serial killer?_

“Sure,” Ivan finally said, nodding to Malai. “I’ll take another lemon drop, please.”

“Coming right up!” Malai replied, heading off to the kitchen as another waiter headed towards a group of new patrons.

“So how’d the interview go?” Ivan asked after a moment, taking the last dolma. “It was at a butchery over in Bellingham, right?”

“Eh.” Alfred sipped the last of his John Collins. “Only time will tell, I guess. I think my only virtue was actually applying. I don’t think many people did. But if I don’t get it, I’m still getting enough from web design to keep me out of more debt for a bit. But I have another interview soon as a travelling photographer.”

“Oh, you mentioned you did photography.” Ivan wiped his fingers on his napkin. “I really liked that picture you posted recently of the sunset seen from Mount Baker. I’m sure you’ll be able to get the job.”

Alfred sure hoped so. Compared to his other options, it provided the best cover when his real work, which took him away from the city, sometimes away from the state. Working from home when he lived by himself had been fine, but Matthew would start to wonder why he was travelling so much before long.

Blushing, Alfred smiled as Malai brought him their drinks, alerting them that their food was just about ready.

“Thanks,” said Alfred, glancing up to meet Ivan’s gorgeous, indigo eyes.

They looked bright purple when he turned his head just so, allowing the lamp above them to catch them. Matched with fair skin that blushed easily and hair the color of moonbeams, he reminded Alfred an angel. He would love to photograph him one day, but he didn’t want to bring that up just yet. It would sound creepy on a first date, especially after Alfred had offered to let him keep drinking while he remained sober.

Ivan seemed just perfect; Alfred would not fuck this up.

_“Done,” Alfred alerted Avenger as he climbed down from the deer stand._

_He left the camouflage netting behind, along with the shotgun shell, and when he landed, he kicked leaves and pine needles around. He made sure to leave impressions of the too-large boots into the mud, bending down to press on the toes, making sure to make the prints look mostly-even. He even made the front part of the prints look a bit deeper, since most people instinctively landed on the balls of their feet when jumping down from somewhere high._

_He headed towards the creek, moving fast but not running. He also made sure to pause every so often to press on the shoes’ toes again, whenever he stepped in mud._

_“Hair?” Avenger asked._

_“Nixed it.” Alfred barrelled through with his explanation when Avenger started to protest: “Smyth’s smart enough to keep his hair covered. He’d probably wear a hair net under his hat and camo. I left the net our contractor gave us back in the deer stand. Some of Smyth’s DNA is likely to be found on it, based on how long he’s had it. Throw in the size thirteen boots I’m wearing, it’s more than enough to make him a suspect, especially after that fight he had with the hit two nights ago their neighbors alerted police about.”_

_Avenger was silent for a moment. He then hummed and said, “Well done. You’ve thought this through. Just remember to run any changes by me next time, Icarus.”_

_A short buzz alerted Alfred that Avenger had hung up, but he left the earpiece in as he jumped onto the stone bank lining this part of the creek. The water came up to Alfred’s thighs in the middle, getting as deep as his chest as he walked. At that part of the creek, he unstrapped the shotgun from his back and dropped it, pausing to watch it sink to the algae-carpeted bottom before he continued on._

After dinner arrived, the two men fell silent for a few minutes as they ate.

“How’d that story go?” Alfred asked after swallowing a bite of kale mashed potatoes. “The one you’re submitting to _Yellow Wallpaper_.”

Warm blood flowed into the rest of Ivan’s mixed vegetables as he cut a piece from his Chicago-style steak. “As good as it’ll get, I think. This is my first time submitting to that particular magazine, though, so time will tell if they like it more than the other stories that get submitted.”

“I’m sure they’ll love it,” Alfred assured. “It sounded amazing. I really don’t know how you come up with your ideas. Anyone can see your talent.” He smiled when he was rewarded with Ivan’s blush and shy smile. “Really. The woman being plastered into the nursery’s wall and the baby growing up hearing a disembodied heart beating all her life? I still get chills when I re-read that one.”

Ivan tried but failed to keep his smile small as he thanked Alfred for his praise.

He even tried to say he didn’t deserve it, but Alfred stopped him and said he deserved _more_ praise, not less.

“You’ll find an agent for your book,” Alfred said. “I just know it. Big deal, huge audience, a book signing tour across the country, your book being translated into tons of languages, a movie deal, the whole nine yards.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Ivan ate another bite of his steak. “All the rejection letters have been pressing on me. I think I’m going to read through it again, tighten things up, but I think I need outside opinions, too.”

“I can take a look at it,” Alfred offered, putting up a hand when Ivan started to say he didn’t have to. “I _want_ to. I didn’t do too good in my English classes, and the only reason I know what that magazine’s referencing is ‘cause I had to read ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ like _five_ times in college, but I can always say if it keeps my attention or not, like, as your average reader, and I know it’s not the same if I actually worked in the field, but I’m, like, obsessed with true crime, so I can probably share if I think details sound legit. That sound okay?”

“If-if you’re really sure,” Ivan murmured, and he smiled when Alfred nodded, looking like an excited child. “Okay. I can send you the Google doc tomorrow. Thanks, really.”

“It’s no problem!” Alfred finished his mashed potatoes and moved to the balsamic mushrooms, spearing one per tine on his fork. “I’m really into those true crime podcasts. Matt and me would listen to them together in college, like, while voice-chatting on Discord every Sunday morning. Rosa joked murder was our Mass, even, and while I didn’t use to be a big reader, ‘cause audio books, I don’t know, sounded like cheating? I know, stupid, but my teachers and the book worms at my school always made it sound like using them was, like, lesser or something. But, anyway, I’m liking the thrillers that’s been recommended to me, even if I’m kinda basic, liking _Gone Girl_ most.”

Ivan laughed at that. “I get the whole ‘feeling like you’re cheating’ thing. I don’t like audio books, only for the same reason I don’t like podcasts: I have an audio processing disorder, linked to ADHD, so I can never pay attention to them, no matter how hard I try. Looking at the words on a page is a lot easier for me. But I like _Gone Girl,_ too, and her book _Dark Places_ . And I have _The Night Swim_ by Megan Goldin, if you want to borrow it. It’s about a woman who runs a true crime podcast getting asked to look into a cold case in a small town she’s travelling to, so she can cover a rape trial happening for her podcast. It’s pretty good so far. And if you like more horror-y leaning thrillers, almost everyone I’ve talked to loved Ruth Ware’s _The Turn of the Key_.”

“Is that like that movie?”

“They’re both retellings of an old story from… the late eighteen-hundreds, I think. It’s called _The Turn of the Screw_ , and Ware’s take on it is a lot better than the movie’s.”

“Cool, then I’d like to check it out.” Alfred chuckled nervously, spearing four more mushrooms, one per tine. “I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to horror, though. At least when it comes to, like, haunted stuff. Is that weird? I’m fine with books about murder or stalkers, like, _real_ _stuff_ that can _actually happen_ , but throw a ghost in, and suddenly I have to sleep with a nightlight.” 

Ivan nodded. "My friend Gilbert's younger brother is the same way. He refuses to admit ghosts scare him, though, but he had to sleep with a light on after reading _House of Leaves_."

"Oh Matt loves that book! Looks kinda complicated, since he wrote it in a weird way, but I was up for trying getting through it." Alfred grinned, then looked embarrassed. "He told me I'm not allowed to read it, though. Not after I tried listening to _The Shining_ …"

"Did you try keeping your phone in the freezer?"

Alfred had to think for a moment, but once he got the _Friends_ reference, he laughed. "I should keep that in mind, see if Joey was onto something!"


	4. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of death and rape in the first section of italic text. Death, sex-trafficking, and molestation of minors mentioned in the second section of italic text. Drug mention when Alfred is passing by Olympe and Elfriede in the club's lounge.
> 
> Olympe = 2p!nyo!France  
> Elfriede = 2p!nyo!Austria

The conversation went from books to movies and shows, the two bonding over their shared hatred for the finales of  _ Game of Thrones _ and  _ How I Met Your Mother _ . They only got interrupted when Malai asked about dessert, but Alfred was still eating, only having just finished his mushrooms and still left with the palm-sized, bacon-wrapped steak.

He looked to Ivan, who'd long-since finished his entree. "You picked good with this. I'm even savoring it, see? So how about you choose again?"

"Oh, uh."

Ivan suddenly got nervous all over again. It seemed he wasn't used to taking the lead in a relationship, even something as small as ordering food. Alfred couldn't help but watch him with a small smile on his face, bright blue eyes twinkling under the lamplight. He'd make sure Ivan felt like a king on high with him. He already looked the part, his angel; he simply needed a few nudges to boost his confidence.

_ It was like an itch. _

_ Alfred could choose to not scratch, true; however, it would remain in his mind surely as a white elephant’s presence in the room. _

_ Sometimes, Alfred chose not to scratch, not now, not yet. He waited, so that once he allowed the relief, it felt all the more satisfying. _

_ He’d been putting it off for almost a year now, but now with his job done, the itch made itself known, a living thing just beneath the surface of his skin. _

_ When the turns became less sharp, Alfred glanced at the dash’s clock. 14:41. A neat, little palindrome. _

_ The itch intensified. _

_ His date with Ivan wasn’t until 8:00, part of Alfred’s mind reminded him. There was time. _

_ A sign alerting drivers of a fork coming up came into view. The left would take Alfred towards Bellingham, before he turned again to go to Twinkle City. The right would take him down a hill and past large houses he could easily afford, if he kept all the money Avenger wired him. _

_ The houses were far apart from each other, rich people pretending to rough it out in the country. These likely weren’t even their only houses; some were probably empty, summer dipping into fall. _

_ But maybe one of the people Alfred had been keeping tabs on was still squeezing out what he could get out of the season. _

_ Which potential target, however? _

_ The guy who got off with community service after killing three people, his girlfriend included, while drunk driving six years ago? _

_ The playboy hotshot who was in jail for only two days after raping a woman? _

_ The criminal lawyer who took only the richest clients, using his silver tongue to ensure they stayed out of jail? He’d even helped both the drunk driver and rapist. Small world, indeed. _

__ _ Alfred approached the fork, humming “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” as he turned right. _

Again, Ivan had chosen well. Alfred loved walnuts and cinnamon apples, so the blondie with both and a scoop of French vanilla on the side was just right. He’d ordered a coffee to go with it, black. He added one tubular packet of raw sugar when it arrived, smiling wide as he thanked Malai for their service.

The waiter saluted and walked away in a march that was more robotic than militaristic, making the patrons around them laugh as they headed towards the kitchen.

Alfred and Ivan, eating his sundae slowly, moved from topic to topic with ease. From movies and shows to YouTube channels to TikTok to music to their college experiences.

As time went on, now on his fourth drink, this time a white Russian, Ivan was laughing louder and with more ease. His earlier shyness was gone, and it took little encouragement for him to allow Alfred to pay for everything, so long as it was left of Ivan to leave behind Malai’s tip.

The two of them made their way upstairs to the club area, which was in full-swing as the clock approached midnight. Music got louder as they wound through the lounge area the staircase opened up into, couples and groups making out or cuddling in the chairs and couches. On two of the small, round tables were glasses at various states of emptiness, and on one table were some mostly-empty bags and boxes of Marmas gummies, Ceres milk balls, and LOL Edibles sour belts.

“Want one?” a woman Alfred thought he recognized asked as she kept her arms looped around another girl’s neck to stay upright. “I’m not usually this generous, but I got a promotion, so I’m sharing.”

Her words  _ I’m not usually this generous _ brought back memories from childhood, and Alfred worked to keep his smile friendly. “No thanks,” he said. “Driving.”

He turned back to look at Ivan, who shook his head. “Greened out last time I crossfaded.”

Olympe Dupin shrugged one of her freckled shoulders, dyed-black hair spilling over them. The style made her look like an older version of Shilo from  _ Repo! The Genetic Opera _ . Her girlfriend, who Alfred recognized as Elfriede Faust, held onto Olympe more tightly, eyes closed and cat-eye glasses slipping down her ski-slope nose. Considering she had once been the high school’s go-to dealer for Xanax, Adderall, and ‘shrooms, Alfred was sure she’d taken something other than gummies or chocolate.

“Nice seeing you two again,” Alfred said, pulling Ivan past the beaded curtain before Olympe could ask where he’d met them before.

He was certain she wouldn’t remember anything about “Matt Williams’s weird-o kid brother.”

A techno remix of some pop song Alfred didn’t know was playing when he and Ivan reached the heart of the dancing area. Ivan had a silly grin on his face that had Alfred mirroring the expression, and he led the first few dances, allowing Ivan to take lead once he started to sober up a bit.

“Do you have time for one more dance, Cinderella?” Alfred asked as they caught their breath at the bar, Ivan ordering a glass of white wine.

The bartender offered Alfred a complimentary soda when he turned down a drink, saying he was driving. Thanking him, he asked for a Coke with extra ice. All the bodies so close together were starting to make him overheat and feel a bit overwhelmed. He hadn’t been to a club or party since that night at the end of college, when everyone wanted to celebrate his almost-win.

That night felt like a lifetime ago.

In a way it was.

_ The drunk driver and rapist weren’t home, but the attorney was laying in a hammock strung up by his large, cabin-style home. _

_ Once Alfred saw he was there, the itch had become a presence, a spirit. This was a sign. It was time. _

_ The presence buzzed just beneath his skin as he turned a few times and found himself back on the earlier road. He went left this time, soon spotting the space in front of an estate’s entrance that allowed parking for people wanting to bike along the mountain roads. Alfred pulled in between a Subaru from Oregon and an SUV from Alberta and killed the engine. _

_ Dried mud flaked from the tires of the blue-and-white bicycle in the pick-up’s bed, and Alfred quickly put on a swim cap to keep his hair covered before putting on his black helmet and a pair of sunglasses that covered half his face, the protruding bill of his helmet pushing them down his nose somewhat. He then secured his fanny pack around his waist, since the spandex get-up he’d been wearing underneath those overalls and flannel were skin-tight and didn’t come with pockets. _

_ The black outfit with dark green stripes running down the shirt’s three-quarter sleeves and shorts fit his form like a second skin, and he fit in easily with the other bikers setting up and hunched over their handlebars as they seemed to glide down the road. _

_ Alfred was purposefully slow in checking his tires and putting on the gloves that had been in his fanny pack. His sneakers felt much more comfortable than those oversized boots, and while they weren’t his preferred shoes for cycling, the soles liable to slip off the pedals, they’d do. Plus, they were cheap, and there was a possibility that this would be his last day wearing them. _

_ It was almost a half-hour before Alfred found a good-enough space between him and the other riders to break away from the main road and stash his bike far enough into the forest that it shouldn’t be spotted. If it was, however, most wouldn’t give it a second thought, thinking the rider was relieving themselves or finding a place to take photos of nature. This was a very beautiful area; Alfred may return sometime with his camera. _

_ It wasn’t long before the burgundy hammock came into view. Clouds were moving in front of the sun, providing shade. Grey out towards the west suggested rain may move in with the next few hours. Attached to the tree was a suspended table, holding a covered cup dripping with condensation and a plate of crumbs. The angle and distance made it impossible to see his face, but the light snoring told Alfred the attorney was asleep. _

_ Alfred took off his helmet and hung it up on the nub of a broken branch of the pine tree he was standing behind. He was far enough from the main roads to not be seen easily, and his swim cap was tan, so anyone passing by would think him bald at first glance. _

_ It took a moment to open his fanny pack and take out his rolled-up extra cycling shirt and shorts and wallet holding some bills (American and Canadian), some loonies, receipts from a Tim Hortons in Surrey to a Dutch Bros in Marysville to Mugs Coffee in Bingen, and a fake ID that aged him down by five years. By all intents and purposes, he appeared to be nothing more than a kid in his early twenties travelling to find bike trails and catch the scenery as green started to bleed into gold and amber. _

_ Underneath the pack’s false bottom, lifted by a white loop that resembled a care information tag, there were two vials of liquid and two syringes, the needles capped. _

_ Alfred took a vial and syringe and put his pack back as it was before approaching the attorney, listening to his surroundings. He used a fox walk technique he and his brother practiced when hiking together, so not as to scare away wildlife. Matthew had always been so supportive of his little brother’s passion, when all Alfred could get his hands on were those cheap disposable cameras, when their dad pummelled Alfred with spittle-laden, slurred insults, calling him nasty and a pervert and a peeping tom. _

_ Pressing his lips together, Alfred thought of the attorney’s grown children, wondered if any were close to him, would interrupt police investigation, demanding answers. The attorney had seven children. Irresponsible in his opinion. In times like these, there should be a quota on children. The carbon footprints left behind alone should be enough to press upon lawmakers to write such a bill. _

_ But, then, this was the type of man those types of people—often men themselves—hired to keep their noses clean and official documents scrubbed. _

_ This was a death that would be noticed. _

_ The pimp who’d sung like a canary for immunity, shoving the women he’d dragged and gaslighted into prostitution, had caused barely a stir…. _

_ If anyone had even noticed he was gone, it was with relief. The “brutality,” as more than one journalist had said, of his death had caused more of a stir, but after months of no traction in the case, things had settled. _

_ Everett was a fairly large city, afterall. Things happened, and public attention was fickle. _

_ There’d been that stir of fear and wonder again, bigger this time, when the body of that teacher who’d molested two students without even a suspension was found. This time, it was a woman considered a pillar in their community, and murder was unheard of—let alone what Alfred had crafted. _

_ #justiceforCarin had trended in Chelan county for months. Those boys had probably sighed in relief, and both of them as well as members of their family had been questioned. Alfred felt bad for only that—indirectly putting those two fifteen-year-olds through even more trauma, indirectly ostracizing them further in the community that was supposed to be their home, their haven. He still wondered if that one boy’s mother ever regretted signing her name on the proverbial dotted line. _

_ Still, though, details of how the teacher’s body had been posed were kept quiet, despite the words “serial killer” burning the tips of detectives’ tongues. _

_ Third time was the charm, though, and this was a man who could not be ignored. Someone of his infamy would demand attention. The attorney would cast as big a shadow over law enforcement in death as he had in life. _

_ Alfred would be tiptoeing around eggshells for weeks, at least. _

_ His heart sped up, and he smiled. _

_ The attorney didn’t so much as flinch when the needle pushed into the side of his neck. Alfred pressed the plunger slowly, keeping an eye on his watch as he did so. _

55… 56… 57… 58… 59… 60….  _ The plunger hit the end of the syringe, and Alfred took out the needle and recapped it. He took his time putting both it and the small vial of ketamine into his pack, underneath the false bottom. _

_ When he pulled the attorney up, he remained asleep, head lolling back, then around as he was jostled out of his hammock and onto the ground. It was a short walk to the house’s side-entrance, but the attorney was heavier than anticipated. It felt like he worked out often, and based on what Alfred had found on him, the attorney got work done to keep looking young. The halo effect could help him immensely in court, afterall. _

_ The attorney’s preference for minimalist decor and strict organization made the next steps easy. Before long, Alfred was wearing a pair of jeans, a belt keeping them in place, and he kept the hood of an oversized Stanford University hoodie pulled over his head. _

_ After the attorney was in the trunk of his Mazda, bound and gagged just in case, Alfred cleaned up their footprints with a Swiffer steam mop, fetched his helmet, and got behind the Mazda’s wheel. _

“Hey, strangers,” Sadık sang as they and Feliciano joined Alfred and Ivan at the bar. “Group dance before Roland switches to slow songs?”

Alfred deferred to Ivan, who agreed, and the four made their way back to the dance floor.

They danced until all were dripping with sweat, laughing and panting as they headed towards the lounge. Others coupled up to sway to Natalie Cole, and Feliciano and Ivan talked about some animes Alfred had heard of but never watched. Matthew had always been more into those types of shows than he was, and he watched some of them with Rosa on Fridays.

Alfred had enjoyed  _ Code Geass _ and  _ Princess Principal _ when he’d been goaded into watching with his ex, though, and he usually ended up watching Studio Ghibli movies with little Matilda. He could practically recite the entirety of  _ My Neighbor Totoro  _ with how many times he’d watched it while babysitting her. Alfred wanted to get her into the Marvel movies and comics, but Rosa asserted she was too young.

After a while, the four parted ways, Sadık needing to get to bed and Feliciano saying his boyfriend had texted earlier, asking him to stay with him tonight.

“Tell Kiku I’m sending my best,” Sadık said, and Feliciano assured he would.

Alfred’s Sedan was a block away, in front of an empty storefront still begging for a business to rent it. Ivan needed help getting into the passenger seat, and he still wore a giddy smile as he worked to get his breathing back to normal.

He shivered when the AC hit him, and Alfred turned it down before putting the car in reverse.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I get hot easy, and it’s been real hot this year. I can’t believe it actually hit  _ ninety _ last month.”

Ivan’s laugh was almost as loud as it had been in the club, making Alfred smile.

“Yeah, my sisters and I will have all the windows open last weekend, and all the ice fans going, and we were still sweating,” he said between breaths. “We went to Semiahmoo Park whenever Kat’s and Natalya’s days off lined up. We’ve driven down to Lake Padden a few times, too.”

“Oh, God, I haven’t been there in forever.” Alfred changed lanes soon as he noticed that he was in one that made a forced turn a block ahead. “My parents used to take me there every weekend when I was a little kid. Dad even tossed me in to teach me how to swim.”

“What?!”

Alfred laughed away Ivan’s worry. “Don’t worry, someone swimming nearby got me, and I  _ did  _ learn how to swim.”

Ivan hummed, not sure how to respond, so Alfred changed the subject:

“What first got you into writing?”

Ivan hesitated but soon answered, “My older sister, Kat, I guess. She’d help me with homework, and in my elementary school, we were always writing these different essays. Usually about stuff like, the most exciting news we’d heard or our favorite vacations, just, feel-good stuff, y’know? Or, at least, it was supposed to be feel-good stuff. I’d usually try to take it in a darker spin, since I was an edgy kid.”

He laughed, Alfred laughing along.

“Kat would help me and told me a lot that I had a lot of imagination,” he continued, “even though my teachers weren’t happy and called my parents about my essays more than once. But Kat got me those ‘complete collection’ books, one of Poe’s short stories and one of the Sherlock Holmes stories. As I got older, she got me books by Chester Himes, Eleanor Bland, Agatha Christie, and Ann Cleeves. When she figured I could handle it, she then let me borrow her books by Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Wrath James White, and Stephen Graham Jones. She praised everything I wrote, trying to imitate her favorite books, and I just kept writing and reading ever since.”

“Sounds great,” Alfred said after a moment. “Wish Matt and me were that close when we were younger, but I guess we got to start catching up on the lost time when I left home for college, even if it was only over Discord and IG at first.”

“How come you weren't close as kids?” Ivan asked.

“My mom was paranoid that I’d like Matt’s mom better—Matt and me are half-sibs, if that’s not already obvious. Apparently Dad called her by Matt’s mom’s name a few times when they were first married, and I guess she never got over it. Can’t say I blame her, but…” He shrugged and asked what exit he would need to take, though they were still a good distance from Blaine, only now passing Ferndale.

“Two-seventy. Take Birch Bay Lynden Road,” Ivan said. “I can tell you which directions to take after.” He sat up a bit, looking like he was sobering up more. “When’d you start swimming?”

“Competitively? In middle school,” Alfred answered, sounding calmer. “Had a rough start learning, as mentioned earlier—nah, don’t apologize, I ended up learning early and got good, even. Real blessing in disguise.” He chuckled. “Before that, my mom would have me jog with her in the mornings during school breaks, so I’d always been active. I don’t swim as often anymore, though, but I like cycling when I have time. Haven’t swam since college. That’s why I eat so slow. You have to eat a  _ ton _ when you’re training. I’d eat upwards of five-thousand calories a day, and it’s real easy to keep that habit even after you’re not training anymore. Eating slow gives my body more time to realize I’m full and keep me from overeating.”

“Ah.” That made a lot of sense. “I think Gil did that too after he stopped playing soccer in college—torn ACL.”

“How’s he doing now? Mathias, my ex, was on the track team and dealt with that. Sounds like a bitch, and he beat himself up about it after. But he found out he liked teaching, when he volunteered at the ESL building, though, so”—he lifted one shoulder—“blessing in disguise again, I guess.”

“Still sounds rough, but yeah, Gil definitely wasn’t happy.” Ivan pointed out the exit and told Alfred which lane he needed to get onto. “He got his degrees in foreign language and secondary education, though, so he’s teaching German at a Christian private school in Lynden.”

“Oof, remind me to pay my respects.”

Ivan laughed. Lynden didn’t exactly have the best of reputation among progressives in the area. “Nice fair, at least. Did you go last month?”

“Can’t say no to funnel cake,” Alfred joked, following Ivan’s directions until he turned onto a road that had a  _ No Outlet _ sign.

“Last house on the left,” Ivan said. “It’s too dark to see, but there’s a sign in the front herb garden that says ‘Bigots will be composted.’” He smiled at Alfred’s laugh. “Natalya, my younger sister, made it, after our pride flag got stolen.”

“I see you guys just added another, plus….” Alfred parked at the curb, since both Natalya’s and Kateryna’s cars were in the driveway. “Oh, a trans and…”

“Sapphic flag,” Ivan supplied, looking at the purple, pink, gold, and green horizontal-striped flag.

It and the trans flag hung on either side of the rainbow one over the railing on the porch. Kateryna had offered to get a bisexual flag to hang there, too, but Ivan preferred keeping it in his room.

“The colors reference some flowers Sappho gave to one of her lovers in a poem.” Ivan unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face Alfred. “Thanks for driving me home. I… had a lot of fun tonight.”

“I did, too.” Alfred turned off his lights and unbuckled his seat belt. “Walk you to the porch?”

Smiling, Ivan nodded, and he allowed Alfred to get out and open the passenger’s side door for him. They walked up the driveway, turning onto the narrow cobblestone path that led up to the porch. Sconces were attached to the outer wall of the house, leaving the porch bathed in soft, yellow light. There was a hanging bench swing at the far end of the porch, newly painted to match the light blue porch.

“Is it too early to ask when you’d like to meet again?” Alfred asked, blinking when Ivan’s shoulders fell in what looked like relief.

Had he been scared Alfred wasn’t interested? Even thinking that made Alfred’s heart clench. How could anyone deny themselves basking in this angel’s light? If anything, it should be Alfred who was worried Ivan wouldn’t want to see  _ him _ anymore.

“Um….” Ivan rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his shoes. “Do you think you’d like to go for a walk at Larrabee next weekend? I can drive us this time, since I have a parking pass. And my schedule’s flexible if you’re working.”

The last part had been tagged on quickly, red dusting Ivan’s cheeks as he waited for an answer.

“Great idea!” Alfred felt himself grow whole at the sight of Ivan’s grin. “I haven’t been there in forever either. Are you allergic to dogs at all?”

Ivan shook his head. “Bringing along a third wheel already?”

Laughing, Alfred said, “One of Rosa’s co-workers asked her to foster a dog they’re having trouble finding a forever-home for—she looks like a mix of German shepherd, lab, and something else—and I think a walk like that will be really good for her. Her name’s Cinnamon.”

“Sounds cute. Can’t wait to meet her!”

An awkward silence fell on them as Alfred felt as though they were being watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw curtains shift, but it was too dark inside the house to see anything but his own reflection in the glass.

“Um.” Ivan shifted. “G-goodnight.”

He started to bend down, and Alfred jumped, once he realized it. He and Ivan both ended up having to jerk away when Ivan’s nose collided with Alfred’s glasses, and they laughed—a nervous sound at first that soon crescendoed.

Once they’d calmed down, they tried again, meeting in the middle with Ivan’s hands finding Alfred’s waist as Alfred wrapped his arms around Ivan’s neck.

Neither was sure how long they stayed that way, but when they pulled apart, Alfred’s lips buzzed with electricity.

“Goodnight,” Ivan said again, and Alfred heard the door unlock right before Ivan opened it—one of his peeping sisters, most likely. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will. Goodnight, and text me if you get a ticket for your car. It was my idea to drive you back.”

Smiling, Ivan nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The door closed, and Alfred smiled all the way back to his car, feeling as though he were walking on air.

The perfect feeling to carry him to his office and finish up with his latest project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sapphic flag mentioned was designed by a lesbian named Lydia (with help from one of her blog readers Maya Kern, who helped rearrange the stripes to be more aesthetically pleasing). The colors are a reference to one of Sappho's poems that says, “her lover as wearing violets, rosebuds, dill and crocuses.” I like this flag way more than that orange-and-pink one, which is honestly the only reason why Kateryna and Manon use the sapphic flag in place of the orange-and-pink one.


	5. Last Supper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death of a canon character, and some torture (though it's not explicitly described).

Ignatius Kirkland was still alive. Good. Anesthesia was a strict science, not an art; Alfred shouldn’t have left him alone with the drip for so long.

But he was alive. It was looking to still be a perfect night.

Humming “Abide with Me,” Alfred got to work.

The old cross was missing from the sanctuary Alfred had turned into tonight’s office space. There was a pale shadow on the wall behind the altar, where it had once hung. Full bottles of wine still remained in the simple wooden trunk beneath the altar. They’d probably gone to vinegar by now, but Alfred had opened up a bottle anyway, letting it air out on the altar next to a plate of wafers. He’d neglected to get a new bottle of his usual, the kind he’d indulged upon the last two.

Hopefully, Mr. Kirkland didn’t mind. He was probably used to the finer things in life, however. Alfred doubted anything he’d bought would have compared.

The back of the church, the rooms that must have once been Sunday school and Bible study classes, had been falling apart for a while. Drywall was peeling away or had completely crumbled to dust in places. There was graffiti, mostly slurs, curses, and inverted crosses and pentagrams—edgy kids who didn’t know symbology beyond metal music covers and B-list horror movies.

The inverted cross was St. Peter’s cross. He hadn’t wanted to die the same way Christ had, and now his cross was a symbol of humility before their Lord.

And now he guarded the Gates of Heaven, read the names written down in the Book of Life.

Pentagrams, upright usually, had been used in church architecture and design centuries ago. The five points represented the five wounds of Christ, the five sorrows of Mary, the five senses, among others.

Alfred, himself, wore a pewter inverted cross under his shirt, warm from his skin, just below his heart. Where the two lines met was a pentagram, or pentacle, as many preferred to call the stars when the point was aimed towards the sky, instead of towards the earth.

Pulling on the braided leather, Alfred pulled the cross out from under the Stanford University hoodie he’d borrowed. He was humming “How Great Thou Art” as he searched for what he needed. None of the beams looked strong enough, until he went into the final room, upstairs. It looked like a small apartment, maybe where the pastor had lived. He’d heard of churches with living quarters for the pastor and his family—if it was a sect that allowed him to have family—but Alfred’s churches growing up hadn’t offered such set-ups.

In what might have been the den, near the remnants of a fireplace, were some wide, wooden beams. They were all too long, but that was an easy fix. Alfred smiled and searched for the sturdiest board.

The Lord provided.

Ignatius was starting to stir on the broken pew—now a bench with a jagged edge where the headboard should be—when Alfred brought the wooden beam down. There was no more ketamine dripping into his arm, and Alfred went over and reached into the bag he’d left beside the pew.

Once he had a small cotton ball pressed against where the needle sunk into skin, Alfred removed the IV. He slipped the needle into a rubber holder he's attached to the pole, careful not to let any blood drip. He’d sanitize the needle later, along with the rest of his equipment.

Once the cotton ball was secured to Kirkland’s arm, Alfred brought the board up, holding it along the length of his body. Then Alfred took a pencil from the bag and made a line where he wanted to cut.

The saw was in the other bag, by the door. Alfred was halfway through cutting the beam to the right length, Kirkland started moaning around his gag. The sound was guttural, slow. He hadn’t yet noticed the gag or tape.

It would be a while before he’d be fully awake, but to play safe, Alfred gave him a new dose as he hummed “Amazing Grace.” He needed a bit more time, but he also needed to be careful. The last two had still been unconscious until Alfred had finished posing them. He’d need to devote his time to his fourth subject, not leave them alone.

Alfred didn’t regret the night he’d spent with Ivan, though, his angelic prince.

Still humming, Alfred took out a box knife and cut away the tape holding Kirkland to the pew. He pulled him away, wrinkling his nose at the residue left on the attorney’s alabaster skin by the duct tape.

The area he’d chosen was up the hill, but first, Alfred needed to bind Kirkland’s wrists behind his back as well as his ankles together. He’d had to give him a low dose of the ketamine, and he couldn’t risk Kirkland waking up and trying to get away. He wouldn’t be able to get far, but he could probably get his gag off and yell for help. They were far from residential areas but for an old couple with a small farm a half-mile away.

It took time to haul Kirkland up the hill and get the supplies.

It was well into the Devil’s hour by the time Alfred had his sleeves pushed up past his elbows as he knelt on the ground before his subject. As he washed his feet, Kirkland stirred, blinking awake. His eyelids fell again as Alfred hummed and washed his feet. He was still groggy from the drug and didn’t seem to register what he was anywhere out of the ordinary.

When Kirkland opened his eyes again, his pupils were still blown up, nearly covering the bright green of his iris, and when Alfred held out a communion wafer, Kirkland opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue without repose.

“‘This is my body,’” Alfred intoned, “‘which is broken for you.’”

He placed the wafer onto Kirkland’s tongue, watching him slowly, as though trying to remember how, pulling his tongue back into his mouth. He chewed and flinched, telling Alfred he’d ended up biting his own tongue in the process.

Alfred poured wine into the clay cup he kept in his kit. He was right; it smelled more like vinegar. “‘This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is poured out for you.’”

Kirkland started coughing after just a sip, stopping suddenly when he doubled over and noticed his wrists were bound behind his back.

“Wha—” Another coughing fit started, tears gathering along his lashes.

Putting the cup by the small fire set away from the trees—they needed to be careful; there was a burn ban right now—Alfred put the gag back into Kirkland’s mouth like a horse’s bit and knotted the cloth tightly behind his head. He ignored Kirkland’s sputtering as he jolted suddenly into lucidity, bucking and turning and kicking his bound legs.

The next part was going to be tricky, then.

Humming “I’ll Fly Away,” Alfred yanked on the rope running down the large tree’s trunk, causing some leaves to rain down on them and Kirkland to be pulled up feet-first. Alfred stopped when only Kirkland’s lower half was in the air and tied off the rope before pulling out his box cutter.

“ _ Mmmfph! Mmmmmmmmffffppph! _ ” Kirkland struggled against the gag, screaming what Alfred assumed to be obscenities and promises of harm and arrests he wouldn’t be able to make good on.

Just as expected, he started flailing soon as Alfred cut through the tape keeping his wrists bound behind his back, but his position gave Alfred much more of an advantage.

Stepping back, Alfred pulled the bandana he’d put around his neck up to cover his nose and mouth, and he pulled his hood further over his head, shadowing his face. He was wearing the ran swim cap again, and it wasn’t long before he had the board in position.

Kirkland’s yelling now sounded like questions, and Alfred came from behind and started taping one of Kirkland’s wrists to the wooden board. He stopped humming and scowled beneath the bandana when the attorney managed to land a punch on his mouth. He caught the other wrist and began taping it to the other end of the beam, Kirkland still trying to wiggle his body, as though that was enough to help him escape.

“We’re almost finished,” Alfred promised, getting up and avoiding pulling his bandana down and touching his face. It felt like his lip had split; he tasted blood. He couldn’t risk getting that anywhere around here. The bananda stayed on.

The yelling turned into loud huffs, like Kirkland was hyperventilating, his eyes bugging out as Alfred approached with the cast iron pot he’d left boiling over the fire, which was already starting to die out.

“Ignatius Arthur Kirkland,” Alfred said, kneeling down. The pot was small and only half-full. He couldn’t waste spilling even a drop. “I believe you’ve heard the names Antonio Fernandez, Abel Larson, Luciano Ricci… Three of your biggest clients in the last two years, one even being one of your neighbors—in summers, anyway.”

Kirkland’s eyes were wide enough to show the whites all the way around his irises, and Alfred smiled beneath the bandana.

“I hope to help each of them follow you after tonight,” Alfred whispered by Kirkland’s ear, hearing him swallow air, and Alfred knelt one knee onto the attorney’s right palm, pinning it to the wood.

Kirklnad grunted in pain, which made Alfred chuckle.

“Did you know a lot of those illustrations are wrong?” he asked, cutting away at the tape again. It took a moment to get it all away, and he leaned harder onto Kirkland’s palm when he tried to free himself. “Nails through Christ’s palms wouldn’t have been able to hold up his body weight. More likely, the Romans would have driven the nails through his wrists. Even more likely, his wrists had been bound. The agony of crucifixion doesn’t come from the nails through your hands—or wrists—and feet. No….” Alfred tilted the pot. He didn’t want what was inside to start solidifying.

Kirkland’s muffled scream was high-pitched as soon as the molten gold hit his skin, causing it to redden and blister on contact. Kirkland’s screams following the first were more like sputters as he struggled to draw in enough breath to fuel them. Alfred remained on Kirkland’s hand as he watched the gold, reflecting the nearby firelight as it hardened. Drips running down the sides of the wooden board slowed and froze, some unfortunately picking up dirt first.

Alfred would need to consider that for the next time. He was still learning.

Kirkland’s eyes were squeezed shut; he was unable to even think of yanking his left hand away when Alfred leaned onto that one and started cutting away at the tape.

“There was a footboard,” Alfred continued. “It was just large enough for the person to prop themselves up on. See, when you’re hanging like that, arms outstretched, it gets hard to breathe.” He poured, and Kirkland’s screams filled his ears.

Alfred stared unblinking as the attorney’s red, tear-soaked face screwed up in pain, his muffled words sounding something akin to “Mom” and “Please” and “Help.”

Words some of his clients had probably heard and ignored, only caring about their own satisfaction.

Alfred set the now-empty pot down and watched the molten gold as it started to harden, holding Kirkland’s unmoving hands to the wooden beam.

“So they push themselves up on that little board,” Alfred said. “They catch their breath, get tired, and lower themselves. An agonizing cycle, until they don’t have the strength to stand up anymore. Then, they can’t breathe anymore, and suffocation by itself is just as slow. You’re supposed to go unconscious after a while, but I wonder how many ended up having to stay awake until their very last breath. They say time slows down as you’re dying. I’m curious… is it slowing down for you?”

Instead of waiting for a response or cutting away the gag to allow for one, Alfred tapped the gold and smiled.

“It sounds like a blessing,” Alfred said as he got to his feet. “Time slowing down, allowing you time to reflect and repent. A small mercy, just before the end. I do hope you take advantage.”

Grunting, Alfred yanked on the rope, Kirkland only making the smallest of pitiful sounds as he was hoisted up, until his head hovered about half a foot above the tree’s roots. Alfred then tied off the rope, using a bowline knot.

Kirkland’s face was bright red as Alfred got the small jar of resin from his bag and uncapped it, the smell of frankincense and myrrh making his nose wrinkle. He tossed the incense onto the dying embers, a cloud of light grey smoke rising up as Alfred capped the jar and returned it to his bag.

It didn’t take long for him to clean everything up and return it to the borrowed Mazda.

The last thing Alfred did before leaving was take a wax melter from his bag and set it on the trunk. The bowl was deep and heated up using a votive in the hollow chamber underneath, which Alfred lit using his lighter. He dropped paraffin wax pellets into the bowl and grabbed a bag of white feathers as he waited.

He could smell frankincense and myrrh as he worked, the sky starting to lighten once he was done.

Now all that was left was to deal with the Mazda and clothes.

_ And sleep _ , thought Alfred as he brought the engine to life.  _ I can’t be tired when I help Ivan and read his book. _


	6. Inspiration

The Google Drive doc was waiting in Alfred’s inbox when he woke up to the demands of his niece, her tiny hands banging on his door as she yelled at him in a mixture of English and Spanish to get up and play astronaut with her.

Laughing, Alfred called out to Rosa, who was scolding her daughter to let her uncle sleep, that he appreciated the wake-up service and that he’d be downstairs soon.

“I’ll help you fly all the way to Mars after I have some coffee,” Alfred promised, laughing again when his niece shouted that she wanted to go to Neptune. “Neptune it is! Coffee first, though, I need fuel to get us there.”

Sated, the little girl ran off, sounding as though she were making a point by punctuating each of her steps as a hard stomp that had her mom scolding her all over again.

Matilda really was such a spitfire; it was hard to believe how shy she’d been when Alfred first got to meet her. As a baby, she’d whined when anyone other than Rosa held onto her, but after the first time Alfred picked her up over his head and flew her around the house, she was enamoured and wanted to do it every day.

_ “She’s going to get heavy for you one of these days,” _ Matthew had joked one day as he got ready for work.

Alfred had only shrugged.  _ “I’ll just get stronger.” _

He’d always wanted kids of his own, but with his job, kids being in the picture wasn’t ideal. He’d have to settle for Matilda and little Gabriel (or Rafael, Bembe, or Dalien—Rosa and Matthew couldn’t decide), who was still growing inside Rosa’s belly. Alfred would have to settle for working to clean up this mess of a world left behind for them.

Downstairs, Rosa was already pouring coffee out of her aluminum carafe into Alfred’s  _ Libra Nutrition Facts _ mug. Her free hand rested on her distended belly, and her round face glistened even with the room near-freezing from all the ice fans going. She overheated easily now, summer absolute torture for her. Matthew and Alfred had adopted the policy of “Rosa is always right” to help relieve whatever stress they could.

“Uncle Alfie!” Matilda ran into the kitchen, feet slapping the tile. She ignored her mom’s scolding and jumped into Alfred’s arms, giving him barely enough time to catch her. “You’re up! You’re up!”

Her coily hair was like an ebony cloud surrounding her head, ticking Alfred’s face.

She babbled, Alfred only knowing enough Spanish to know she was talking about learning how to play freeze tag yesterday and something about having a weird dream—Alfred thought he caught the words for  _ library _ and  _ ghost _ . He also knew just enough Spanish to hear that she was using English grammar again; this assumption was confirmed by Rosa’s pained expression as she gathered her long dreads at the base of her neck, securing them with a sequin scrunchie she’d been wearing on her wrist.

Her sharp look cut off Alfred’s chuckle, and his cheeks heated as he accepted his coffee and gave polite  _ uh-huh _ s and  _ wow _ s as he carried Matilda to the table in the small nook adjacent to the kitchen. A large archway nearby led to the den, where Alfred could see Cinnamon lounging on the couch, snoring at a volume that made the expression  _ sawing logs _ seem very apt.

Rosa brought over two plates of fried eggs, rice, and skinless longganisa Ate Connie—she insisted they call her that—had made for them. She set one in front of Alfred and sat down opposite of him. It looked like she was on her second plate, since the portion was smaller than her usual.

Even though Alfred had noticed a  _ Hello Kitty _ plate in the sink as he’d passed it, soon as he’d cut a piece off the longganisa, Matilda stopped talking and opened her mouth wide.

Giggling as Alfred made a motor-like sound as he waved the fork around Matilda’s face, Rosa said, “You already ate!”

With the word  _ ate _ , Alfred made a screeching noise as he finally let Matilda chomp down on the sausage piece. He fed himself a bite of egg and rice as she chewed, shimmying her shoulders as she did.

After her third bite of food, Matilda’s eyes, dark brown like her mom’s, focused on Alfred’s mouth, and as he finished off the second longganisa, she leaned forward and poked the scab on his bottom lip, near the corner of his mouth.

“Did you eat your cupcake too fast?” she asked. “Because I ate mine too fast and bit my lip and there was a lot of blood and Daddy had to sit in a corner like this—”

She tried to curl up with her head between her legs, causing her to start to tip over. Alfred dropped his fork in the process of catching her, shaking his head when she started to giggle.

“Gordita,” Rosa said, reaching over to pinch one of Matilda’s chubby cheeks, “go change out of your pajamas. Nana and Papa will be here soon to pick you up to take you to the play.”

Before Rosa finished her sentence, Matilda’s feet hit the tile. “Yay! Nana and Papa! Nana and Papa! Nana and Papa” She sprinted out of the breakfast nook and through the den, the clamor causing Cinnamon to jolt awake and bark once in surprise. “C’mon Sin-sin! Fashion show!”

The dog needed no further prompting to jump down from the couch and canter after Matilda, her curled tail wagging. Alfred wasn’t sure which of those two would end up more upset if Cinnamon ended up living with a different family.

Catching Rosa’s look, Alfred took a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t need a lecture,” he said, making sure to keep his voice low. “And I thought there was no talking about work with Matilda home. Your rule.”

He could hear the little girl bouncing on her bed; the springs of her bed squeaking loud enough for neighbors to hear. Still, he and Rosa needed to be careful. Neither could risk a slip-up around a little girl with a penchant for repeating everything she heard. She’d gotten two strikes at summer camp back in June for her potty mouth—gifted to her by Marine Mouth Rosa.

Glaring, Rosa watched as Alfred picked up his fork and took it to the sink. He dropped it into the plastic tub on the left side of the sink, filled with warm, soapy water. He fetched a new fork as well as a knife, pointedly not looking at Rosa as she continued to watch him while remaining silent.

Finally, she gave in as Alfred started cutting the egg whites away from the cooked-through yolk:

“I know you're careful.” She eyed how closely he cut around the yolks, slowly and carefully turning the eggs as he cut. “Meticulous even. That makes it harder for you to deal with surprises, though, and no matter how tight your plans are, things slip through.”

“I wore a bandana over my nose and mouth,” Alfred replied after taking a bite of egg whites. Matilda always complained about his eating habits, but his stomach was already feeling upset at mixing the food as he had. “I burned it with the clothes I wore after.”

Humming, Rosa cut into her longganisa, cutting the rest at once and mixing the pieces with the eggs, their broken yolks already leaving the rice with a sticky, yellow residue, as if to spite Alfred somehow with her food.

“Be careful with that” was all she said, sounding defeated. She’d argued with Alfred before—sometimes for hours until both were blue in the face—and pregnancy had robbed her of the extra energy needed to go toe-to-toe with him. She needed to trust she’d taught him well and that he wouldn’t piss Avenger off.

* * *

Alfred had gone back upstairs when Matthew’s mom and step-dad stopped by to pick up Matilda, using his need for a shower as his excuse. Matilda had been too excited to show her grandparents Cinnamon to notice anything remiss, but Rosa had frowned. Much as the two argued, and much as she called him names like  _ hard-headed _ and  _ idiot _ , she often worried about him and could be a mother hen.

When it came to the topic of his parents, though, she left it alone after the first time she’d tried to get him to open up.

Mr. and Mrs. Stuart had tried adopting Alfred after his mom’s death, and despite avoiding them as much as he could, they kept trying to create a connection with him.

Rosa was obviously in agreement with Matthew that Alfred should give them a chance, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was just glad they didn’t bother pushing beyond carefully-crafted statements every so often, usually prompting Matilda to do what she did best and go on a long spiel about her beloved grandparents.

Alfred heard the front door close just before he turned on the water.

Shaving took the longest amount of time, Alfred taking time to feel along his legs, arms, and chest to be sure he wasn’t missing lines of hair. He then used a coffee ground exfoliant over his skin until it was pink and shaved again.

After he was done showering, he shaved his face, and he smiled at the citrusy scent. He heard Rosa’s relaxing playlist downstairs trying in vain to drown out Cinnamon’s snoring, telling Alfred his sister-in-law was attempting to take a nap.

He didn’t want to add to Cinnamon’s symphony of one, so after toweling off and deciding he’d do without the blowdryer today, Alfred got dressed in his running shorts and his  _ Middle Earth’s Annual Mordor Fun Run  _ T-shirt. His shoes were in a rack in the foyer closet, and as though sensing that the door was about to open, Cinnamon suddenly stopped snoring and rolled over onto her belly, wagging her tail as she stared at Alfred with big, dark eyes.

Shaking his head, Alfred said, “Fine,” and grabbed the leash and his keys. “Let’s go to Whatcom Falls.” There were leash-free trails there, and Rosa kept saying she wanted Cinnamon to learn to be social with other dogs.

_ “It’ll make her more adoptable,” _ she kept insisting, and since Alfred was the one with free time and without a wiggling weight using his bladder as a bouncy castle, he might as well be the one to help Cinnamon get out of her shell.

From the master bedroom, Rosa let out a relieved, “Thank you” when jingling followed by Cinnamon’s nails scratching the door alerted her to the coming departure.

“Rest up!” Alfred told her, checking his arm band, to make sure his cellphone was in place before opening the door and locking it behind him. Cinnamon was already in the driveway shared by the neighbors, pawing at the Sedan.

She kept pacing the backseat as Alfred drove, whining and occasionally pausing to nuzzle Alfred’s hair and lick his ear or cheek.

“We’ll be there soon,” Alfred said, slowing down at a crosswalk as the lights flashed. He smiled at the kid pointing at Cinnamon, and she was positioned where Alfred could pick up her paw to make her wave back at the kid, making them grin ear to ear and pull on their parent’s arm in excitement.

Thankfully, the parking lot at Whatcom Falls Park wasn’t too full, but since it was Sunday, Alfred wouldn’t be surprised if he found himself boxed in later.

“Hey,” Alfred hissed, trying to attach the leash to Cinnamon’s collar. “Stay—” he fell over when he missed again, the excited dog continuing to pace. “Goddammit.” He turned back around in his seat and sat back, counting to ten.

As if sensing the shift in mood, Cinnamon poked her head between the front seats and licked Alfred’s cheek. He sighed and attached the leash to the ring on the dog’s pink collar, and he scratched between her ears, one always sticking up and one always flopped over, letting her know he wasn’t angry.

“But this is why I’m not a dog person,” he muttered as he opened the door, glad that Cinnamon waited for him to get out before following. “But you seem to have better self-preservation instincts than other dogs I’ve dealt with.”

The main trail went straight to the stone bridge that gave a nice view of the waterfall, its roar still rather pitiful despite yesterday’s rain. This summer had been rather dry, but if the meteorologists were right, the storms next week should make up for it. Some said there might even be lightning—a rarity in this region.

Alfred hoped the meteorologists were wrong.

* * *

As predicted, Alfred’s Sedan had gotten boxed-in by the time he and an exhausted and soaking Cinnamon returned to the parking lot. Thankfully, it looked like one of those cars was leaving, but at least one more needed to leave if Alfred hoped to get around that CR-V without scratching or denting it—or hitting the tree.

There was an empty picnic table near the playground on the other side of the lot, so Alfred fetched a bowl and two water bottles from his car and claimed the table. Cinnamon started drinking soon as Alfred started pouring, despite the fact that she’d drunk from the swimming hole just as much as she’d played in it.

The people there had been more than happy to give her attention while Alfred lounged on a nearby flat rock, not wanting to risk getting his phone wet or leave it behind. It had taken Cinnamon a while to warm up to the other people, but when it had become obvious Alfred wasn’t getting into the water, she’d jumped right in and had even played with the dog that looked like Shadow from  _ Homeward Bound _ .

He’d also let the couple who’d seemed to get attached to Cinnamon that she was actually a foster and which shelter she was from, so maybe Cinnamon would find a forever-home soon. Matilda would be heartbroken if Cinnamon went to another family, but Rosa couldn’t deal with a hyper five-year-old, a dog, and a baby barely a month away from popping out all at the same time. Alfred’s schedule was too unpredictable to be a reliable helping hand, and Matthew practically lived at work, having to commute to Everett nearly every day—and be on-call during his days off when something inevitably went wrong.

The joys of retail, especially as a manager.

Though fast food was its own special hell; sometimes Alfred was surprised he didn’t jump to a hitman job sooner. Rosa had been a God-send to both the Williams brothers, for sure.

Pulling his phone out of his armband, Alfred checked the battery, glad to see it was only just below fifty-percent. Google Docs tended to suck quite a bit of life from his phone, especially with long documents, and Ivan’s book was over five-hundred pages. That phrase from Stephen King—“Kill your darlings”—popped into Alfred’s head, but he was enjoying the book so far.

The introduction was slow; Ivan wrote exposition with a heavy hand. Still, it picked up quickly, and Alfred liked that the book was from the perspective of the killer’s roommate, not the perspective of the killer himself. It was close enough to see the quirks while allowing imagination some breathing room.

The document’s title—“And They were Roommates”—didn’t fit the mood, but Ivan said in his email that it was just a working title while he tried to think of a good one. He was open to suggestions, and Alfred had a few ideas in mind but wanted to read more before offering them.

Cinnamon passed out under the table as Alfred read, getting frustrated whenever Google Docs shuttered, suddenly freezing before suddenly scrolling too far down too fast. It made reading slow; Alfred couldn’t wait until he could continue on his laptop instead.

But when he reached the chapter when that first body was finally found, Alfred could only stare at the description.

That was his kill, the one in Everett.

Ivan had been inspired by  _ him _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone worried about Matilda, she'll be safe in this story. Also, I started recently headcanoning America's birthday being on 17 October (British surrender at Yorktown) instead of 4 July, which is why he has a Libra mug instead of a Cancer one.  
> Also, Matilda speaking Spanish with English grammar is based off my old neighbor's son (who was also five at the time they lived here). Since they spoke Spanish at home with him speaking English at school, he ended up mixing up the grammar all the time, which annoyed his dad to no end lol.


	7. Third Victim Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of abuse, homophobia, and racism when Yao starts talking about Alfred's dad. Mentions of sex trafficking and molestation when Mei talks about the victims of the serial killer's victims at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Aleks=Poland  
> Ohla=2p!Ukraine

“Stop obsessing,” Manon sighed as she struggled to read—another memoir, this one titled  _ The Color of Water _ .

“I’m not obsessing,” Ivan replied, quickly and with a bite that made him flinch. He reached up to put his phone face-down onto the end table. He lunged for a sit-up to turn himself around and sit rightside-up in the chair, his head pounding from all the blood that had run down into his head.

The closer he got to thirty, the more his body seemed to rebel against him, and he hated it.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet Yao for a late lunch later?” Manon asked as she turned the page of her book.

Glancing at the  _ Nightmare Before Christmas _ -themed cuckoo clock, Ivan swore and got up from his dad’s recliner. He heard Manon remind him not to neglect his friends like he had when dating Louis, and Ivan rolled his eyes and shouted back a half-hearted “Yeah, yeah.”

He did feel a ping in his heart at the comment, though. He knew Manon actually was quite worried that the more unhealthy parts of Ivan’s dedication to his partner would resurface now that he was dating again. He’d lost many friends over the years. Thankfully Yao was laid-back as he was; his only request for Ivan to earn his forgiveness was a free dinner.

About a half-hour later, Ivan had switched from Weeping Angle pajama bottoms to jeans and was in the Marshalls parking lot in Twinkle City. He’d kept on his Van Gogh TARDIS T-shirt, though he’d also thrown on a flannel jacket and scarf, the temperature having suddenly dipped down into the high thirties this morning and now hovered around the mid-forties.

Kateryna and Natalya liked to joke that Ivan had lived in the tropics in his past life, due to his intolerance of weather below seventy degrees.

Checking his phone again as he entered the store, Ivan looked up when he noticed someone waving. It was Aleks, a cottage-core and ouji fashion-lover, organizing the makeup—Ivan gave it five minutes before the customers made the entire aisle look like a tornado ran through it again.

Smiling, Ivan waved back and started heading over.

“Oh, we actually got conceal—yep, looks about right,” Ivan commented, looking at the multitudes of concealers labeled  _ porcelain _ and  _ fair _ and the one  _ mocha _ . “What’s your pronouns today?”

“She and her, please, and it’s not like this is Sephora,” Aleks said, rolling her bright green eyes as she put up another peg to hang up contour palettes. “I’m willing to bet this month’s paycheck at least half of those are expired.”

“I thought the expiration date on makeup only kicks in after it’s been opened.”

“I mean, technically, but if it was made over five years ago, I’m not putting it on my face,  _ especially _ not right under my eyes.”

“Fair.” Ivan was about to ask where Yao was when he saw the shorter man walking towards him, his hand on the button to activate the mic on his walkie.

He could just barely hear Yao’s voice against the din of the surrounding customers as well as from Aleks’s earpiece—she must have gotten stuck with the broken one that seemed to be there to make the wearer to deaf.

“Act natural everyone,” Yao was saying. “There’s a suspicious-looking white man in accessories. I’m going to help Aleks keep an eye on him.”

Next over the earpiece as Aleks giggled, Ivan heard someone give a bark of laughter before a cashier asked for a price check in shoes. Aleks excused herself to find the item as Yao reached Ivan and invited him to his office, which he shared with two other supervisors.

“I promise,” Yao said as they walked past the rotating jewelry towers, “I’m not racist. White men just have a history of stealing and just being thugs in general. You understand.”

Ivan laughed, nodding in thanks when Yao opened the door for them. The computer on the right was covered in wrapping paper with binary code printed on it, and the same paper also covered the keyboard, swivel chair, and several blocks of office supplies.  _ Happy Birthday Fucker _ was written on little triangles in the nonbinary flag colors hung over the computer, and instead of bows over the “gifts,” there were security sensors wrapped around everything.

“Whose birthday?” Ivan asked, looking for a nametag by the computer.

Yao plopped down into his chair at the far corner of the room, directly opposite of the door. Tiny Hello Kitty and My Melody figurines decorated the top of his computer, and next to his computer was a Winnie the Pooh plush holding a pansexual flag.

“Sidhom Khaldun,” he answered, turning his chair around and waking up his computer. He brought up a page with the employee schedules. “They transferred from one of our stores in Oregon a few weeks after you abandoned us.”

“Sounds like you guys are hitting the store’s minority quota without me.”

“Eh, maybe I’ll hire a white cishet dude.”

“Those are real?” Ivan asked, trying his best to sound horrified.

“Watch it; you’re one tick away from Privilege.” Yao stopped typing and pressed on his earpiece as he tilted his head. After a moment, he looked to Ivan and rolled his eyes as he pressed the button for his mic. “Please save the edgy jokes for  _ after _ Christmas. I have three orientations tomorrow, and I don’t need you idiots scaring any seasonals away.  _ Again _ .”

“Had another new guy quit right in front of a Karen and storm out?” Ivan tried not to laugh but failed, and he covered it with a cough when Ivan heavily sighed. “So… guessing you’re not ready for lunch?”

Slumped in his chair and pouting as he pulled his long ponytail over one shoulder, Yao muttered, “I mean, I’m starving and want to run as far as I can from this place, but professionally? No, I’m not. Sorry, I told you two, because I assumed Herakles would get here early, since we don’t have a mid.”

“You assumed  _ Herakles _ would  _ voluntarily _ get here early?”

Glancing back to his computer, Yao frowned. “You can tell I had to wake up before noon. I’m not exactly running on all cylinders.”

“Well, I need a new hoodie and more deodorant—stop that”—Ivan tried not to laugh at Yao pretending to choke on the air—“so I can shop around and wait for you.”

Yao blew out a relieved breath as he pushed himself up from his chair.

“Thanks,” he said. “And then you can tell me all about your date with Alfred later and praise my matchmaking skills.” He smiled as he opened the door, his smile growing when Ivan rolled his eyes.

“Help me bring honor to us all,” Ivan sang under his breath, dodging a smack upside his head as Yao laughed and headed towards the checkout counter.

Ivan went the opposite direction, towards the mens’ section. It was the smallest area of the store, and Olha was rearranging the sports aisle, cursing the boxed basketballs and soccer balls for taking up so much space.

“Yao said you can’t flatten them?” Ivan asked, and Olha jumped before dropping the football in her hands before throwing herself at Ivan.

She was only a few inches shorter than him, and he stumbled back a few steps, nearly hitting another customer as he wrapped his arms around Olha’s waist. He whirled around with her and set her down, both laughing. Her hair, the teal dye grown out to leave behind her natural brown, fell over her round face, and she combed it out of her grey eyes as she smiled.

“Y’know, Eva’s gonna get suspicious if you keep coming on seeing me in public like this.” She winked as she flipped her hair back, making Ivan laugh again as he stuck his thumbs awkwardly into his pockets.

He knew Olha just liked getting a rise out of him, but it worked. “Things still going strong with Eva, then? I don’t see her posting anything anymore.”

“Ah, right; she created a new Insta account,” Olha informed, nodding once. “I’ll send you the user later, but yeah.” Red dusted Olha’s freckled cheeks as she glanced down, tucking her hair behind her multi-pierced ear. “And we’re doing real good. Her new shrink’s helping a lot and got her on what looks like the right pill cocktail. It’s really helping, and we’ve been able to really talk more, but I’ll drop the mushy shit before I ruin my new lashes.”

They caught up as Ivan found a hoodie he liked and some deodorant that looked like it hadn’t been tampered with. Olha had to leave him to help another customer, and Ivan grabbed a new loofa and bottle of shower gel. On his way to the counter, he saw Herakles arrive, mirrored sunglasses covering his eyes and his shaggy brown hair messy as usual, and he was still cultivating that goatee. He wore a nametag that read  _ Aizawa _ , which he wore when they weren’t expecting the higher-ups to visit. Their head manager had made it for him after being convinced to watch  _ My Hero Academia _ , and everyone always got a kick out of customers calling him Mr. Aizawa. It was also fun when customers got the reference.

Herakles waved when he noticed Ivan, who nodded in response, his arms full with items, which he added to when he gave in and picked up one of the bags of cookies sitting on one of the shelves that fenced-in the queuing area.

By the time he was done, Yao was smoking outside and scrolling through his phone.

“What took you so long?” Yao asked, not looking up.

“Only one cashier, and the person in front of me spent five minutes complaining about the store charging for bags when you use plastic ones instead of paper.”

Yao blew smoke away from Ivan and rolled his eyes. “I need to make BINGO cards and drop them in the breakroom one day. First employee to get a BINGO gets an extra break.”

“They’ll deserve one by then, especially as we get closer to the holidays.”

“Exactly.”

Trying not to wrinkle his nose, Ivan promised to meet Yao at the restaurant, checking first that Olive Garden sounded good. It was, and Yao asked as Ivan was about to leave if it was fine that Mei joined them.

He then turned up his middle finger when Ivan commented, “Good, I get to have actual intelligent conversation!”

In Olive Garden’s parking lot, Ivan decided to check his phone before going into the restaurant to burn time. He always felt awkward asking for a table by himself.

His breath caught when he saw Alfred’s name in his notifications, and Ivan hesitated for a moment before opening the message:

_ I’m not ghosting you, I swear! I’ve been reading your book, and my brother just told me that I should give you updates, I’m not all that good at this talking stuff sometimes, I’m sorry…, _ he’d written, followed by two smiling emojis with nervous sweat drops on them.  _ But I’m totally loving the book so far! I just want to read through it all once first before going back and adding comments _

Tension Ivan hadn’t realized he’d felt eased, and he smiled at his phone as he started typing:  _ Take your time and thanks for the update! I’m really happy you’re liking it so far, but don’t be afraid to critique when you get to that; I can handle it  _

Ivan tried out a few different smiley faces before settling on one that didn’t look sarcastic or weird to him, and then he hit  _ send _ and got out of his car. He saw Yao’s car pulling into the parking lot, and Ivan waited for him at the door.

“Ever the gentleman,” Yao commented with a smile as Ivan opened the door for him with a dramatic flourish. He waved at the perky hostess, who welcomed them and asked if they’d prefer a table or booth. “Do you have a handicap table? Our friend is joining us soon and is in a wheelchair.”

“We only have handicap booths. Is one of those alright?” The hostess grabbed a third menu when Yao and Ivan nodded. “Great! What’s your friend’s name, so I can lead them to you when they arrive?”

“Mei Huang,” Yao responded as he and Ivan followed the hostess to their booth.

They had to sit in the same bench, Yao taking the outer position, since his diabetes meant he needed to excuse himself to the restroom more often.

It wasn’t long before the waiter arrived, bringing breadsticks and asking what they’d like to drink.

“Water for me, please,” Yao requested. “Coke for Blondie, and our friend Mei should be here soon, and she’d like the raspberry lemonade.”

Once the waiter was gone and Ivan was halfway done with his first breadstick, Yao asked him how the date with Alfred went.

“He’s really sweet.” Ivan smiled, remembering the text from earlier, and he rolled his eyes when Yao hummed the  _ Wedding March _ , which ended up turning into the  _ Imperial March _ partway through. “We talked a lot, mostly just the usual getting-to-know-you stuff. We didn’t get all too deep, except for a couple comments about his parents. Did you know them?”

Smile wiped away, Yao’s dark eyes fell to the table as he held onto his own breadstick. Ivan remained quiet, waiting patiently for Yao to speak.

“Only once, and that was enough,” he finally said before taking a large bite of his breadstick. He paused again when their drinks arrived, and he said they’d wait to order until their friend arrived. “Well, I met his dad. I’ve only seen his mom—she didn’t talk much while I was there. I’ve gone back and forth feeling bad for her and being pissed at her for not getting Alfred out of that shithole.” Yao sighed and ate more of his breadstick. “The dad was a prick. Called me a highlighter and some choice slurs and punched Alfred in the face when he stood up for me. He was already developing a black eye as he got me out of there, his dad yelling at us, threating to call immigration on me and my family and also calling Alfred gay slurs and an ‘insert-Asian-slur-here fucker’.”

Ivan just stared as Yao shook his head before finishing his breadstick and grabbing another.

“Alfred apologized over and over for, like, two days,” Yao continued. “Said his dad had supposed to have been at a meeting out of town and hadn’t wanted to put me in his line of fire.” Yao paused and ate half his breadstick. “He looked real scared and begged me not to say anything any time I even uttered ‘CPS,’ so I dropped it, then learned later that Alfred’s dad was buddy-buddy with the chief of police. That fucker  _ also  _ probably slapped around his wife and kids.” He shook his head again, mouth a hard line. “Alfred’s pretty private about all that stuff, though, and he says he doesn’t really remember much about when he’d brought me over that one time. He’s probably repressed a  _ bunch  _ of shit from back then. Eva’s the same, you remember?”

Ivan had only interacted with Eva a few times since meeting her, but those few times had prepared him for the flippant way Alfred had mentioned his dad just tossing him into a lake and expecting him to learn how to swim that way. Eva had been similar when bringing up the nights she’d slept in a closet when her mom had brought dates over to their one-bedroom apartment, tone implying she thought she was simply delivering a funny anecdote.

Yao kept staring at the table, looking like he was about to say something else when they heard the hostess heading their way and complimenting Mei on her makeup and hair.

“It’s a wig, actually,” Mei said as she rolled behind the hostess. “My hair doesn’t take to bleach well, so I collect wigs in fun colors.”

She was wearing her pastel rainbow wig, the sweeping bangs pinned back with star and butterfly clips. The ringlets were brought forward over her shoulders, so long that they pooled over the rainbow tote bag in her lap.

“That actually sounds much better than dying it so often,” the hostess commented, pinching a lock of her bleach blond between her fingers. “Healthier, and you get to play more with style, too.”

“Yep!” Mei grinned. “Perfect for people with commitment issues, like me.”

The hostess laughed as Mei pulled up to the table, and she wished them all a nice meal, saying the waiter would be back around soon.

“Omigod, did you hear?” Mei asked, oblivious to the serious looks on the guys’ faces as she brushed her hair aside and dug through her tote. “A body was found a few miles from Sudden Valley.” She kept her voice hushed and logged into her phone as she kept going. “They think it’s a serial killer. Two other bodies had been found in similar states within the past four years: a guy in Everett and a woman in Chelan county.”

“I think I know about the cases you’re talking about,” Ivan said, taking Mei’s phone when she held it out to him and Yao. “Yeah, the victim in Everett had been a sex trafficker, and the woman had been convicted of molesting students, though the jury found her innocent. I used those cases as inspiration for my book.”

“The killer roommate one?” asked Yao, leaning against Ivan’s shoulder to read the article. “Or the priest confession one?”

“Roommate one,” Ivan replied. “The priest story hit a dead end. For now, anyway.”

According to the article, an Instagram photographer, who focused on old and abandoned buildings, had been hiking to get pictures of the old church in the area the body was found. On one of the walls of the church had been feathers stuck to the wood and brick with wax, and like most Washingtonians, the photographer was an avid true crime fan. They had recognized the wings from a description on an episode of the podcast  _ Blood Like Water _ .

The episode had talked about both the cases in Everett and Chelan county, the creator and host, who went by the stage name Vlad Heartstone, suggesting that these were not the only kills the world would see by this killer—and he was sure it was the same person behind both. Vlad had also gone into the victims’ pasts, their crimes and alleged crimes included, and he proposed that the killer saw themselves as some kind of avenging angel.

“This would be his third kill, if it  _ is _ the same person,” Mei said. “That makes him officially a serial killer. Practically in  _ our _ backyard! What if he’s  _ here _ ? In Twinkle City?”

“ _ Goddamn _ ,” Yao muttered, scooting away and no longer interested in reading the article. “You don’t have to seem so fucking happy about it.”

Just then, the waiter arrived again and asked if he should come back later, but Mei said she was ready, and Yao and Ivan agreed, all wanting the unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks.

“It’s exciting!” Mei insisted, taking her phone back when Ivan held it out.

“More like terrifying,” Ivan muttered, and Yao nodded in agreement. “I prefer my serial killers fictional or in jail—or just disappeared like Zodiac or Jack the Ripper.”

Mei rolled her eyes and grabbed the last breadstick from their basket. “Babies.”


	8. Muted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if corporal punishment is a trigger, but just in case, it's mentioned a little after Manon jokes with Ivan not to burn anything.
> 
> Manon = Belgium (it's a nickname, btw; her name's actually Marie)

Alfred was completely understanding about the change in plans for their second date.

_ Tbh _ , he’d sent,  _ I wanted to ask you that, but I couldn’t think of a way to word it that didn’t sound like I was just trying to get out of it _

The text was followed by a grimacing emoji and a smiling one with a nervous sweatdrop. Ivan had been relieved, only to get nervous again when Alfred sent in a second text saying Ivan should still get to choose their next date, since Alfred had chosen Little Blue Flower.

As annoying as it was, Ivan was actually grateful for Kateryna looking over his shoulder, attempting to seem like she was only passing by, while he stared at the message.

She suggested coffee or lunch, to which Manon replied that it sounded a bit casual compared to their first date.

“And a hike in the woods isn’t casual?” Kateryna playfully shot back.

“Around here, it’s practically a proposal,” Manon had commented, her coy smile making Kateryna blush.

Before the two could dive into their double-proposal story that Ivan had already heard over a hundred times, he piped up, “How about to that cat café in TC that opened up a few months ago?”

Manon dogeared her book and set it down, green eyes sparkling. “Oh, I’ve been seeing pictures of that on Instagram! It looks so cute, and some of the kittens have already found homes.”

Smiling as Manon got out her phone to show Kateryna the café’s Instagram account, Ivan made the suggestion to Alfred. His smile grew when he got a cat emoji with heart eyes in return, followed by Alfred saying he couldn’t wait.

By the time Kateryna took her wife’s phone from her to show Ivan a video of one of the older cats cleaning one of the kittens, Ivan had booked his and Alfred’s date for Sunday afternoon. He put a reminder on his phone and texted Alfred the time and a promise that he’d drive them this time.

A notification popped up on his phone that Sadık had just uploaded a video as he started scrolling through the café’s account with his sister and sister-in-law; he was convinced that it wouldn’t be long before one of them brought home a new fur baby. They’d all taken Marya’s death last Christmas really hard, Natalya especially. The cat had been nearly as old as her, and most of her childhood pictures had featured the tortie snuggling against her or asleep in her lap.

Since then, they hadn’t been ready to adopt another, but Manon had been broaching the possibility lately, and Natalya didn’t leave the room anymore when she did, which was as close to affirmation as she was going to give.

“Let me know how that long-haired black one is,” Manon said to Ivan after Kateryna excused herself to the office. She had a deadline next week and was only part-way done with her article. “And the one with the bobtail.”

“Just go there with Kat”—Ivan kept going as Manon opened her mouth—“but  _ not _ Sunday.”

Manon play-pouted when her phone alerted that the battery was at five-percent, so she left to charge it, grabbing her book on the way out of the kitchen.

She’d forgotten the apple fritter she’d been nibbling on, but she rarely finished them anyway, so Ivan pulled it towards him as he woke up his laptop. He opened YouTube in a new tab and clicked on Sadık’s latest video before switching back to Google docs.

“Okay,” Sadık said, sounding confused, “so… Okay, I can’t get anything else in my life straight, but let me try to get  _ this shit  _ straight.”

There was then a hard cut, followed by Sadık’s greeting, and Ivan smiled as he clicked on the chapter he’d left off in his doc. He figured one of the best ways to clear his mind off his manuscript was to start working on another book—it was also his preferred way of procrastinating on his short stories.

“ _ Why did none of you tell me about this book _ ?” Sadık said in false outrage, portraying much more emotion than they’d shown at Little Blue Flower.

They went on to gush about a YA contemporary titled  _ I Wish You All the Best _ , which Ivan recalled seeing on Natalya’s bookshelf before. He’d never been interested in contemporaries, especially YA ones—the few that had been pushed on him had made him roll his eyes into the back of his head every five pages—but Sadık’s excitement made it sound interesting.

Half-listening to Sadık’s praises, Ivan started typing, occasionally stopping to bring up one of the spreadsheets he’d made with the book’s outline and the timeline. This one had a slightly younger cast of characters, the eldest turning twenty-five in chapter four, and Ivan wanted the mystery to last only a couple weeks rather than the years “And They Were Roommates” stretched over.

He also brought up new tabs to research blood spatter patterns and healing rates of needle marks and how track marks appeared. He also kept up a couple different blogs giving tips and providing masterlists for writing characters with drug addictions and how to write them without demonizing addicts.

YouTube had already auto-played two related videos before Ivan realized he wasn’t hearing Sadık’s voice anymore, and he switched back to their channel, clicking on their playlist with the most videos on it. As Sadık from 2017 jumped into talking about the then-latest  _ Red Queen _ book, Ivan switched back to another spreadsheet, this one laying out his characters and their basic traits as he ate the last bite of Manon's apple fritter.

Several of the names had asterisks afterwards, and when clicked on dropped down to a list of other possible names Ivan was thinking of giving them. He was pretty sure he browsed baby naming sites more than most mothers, and the proof of that was when Sadık was interrupted for an ad about diapers.

Hours later with nearly four chapters written—several paragraphs including only  _ Anastasia* says something witty _ or  _ something cool happens _ in brackets—Ivan’s phone kept dinging, the sound alerting him that it was from Discord.

Ever since Mei showed him and Yao the news story about the discovered body, Ivan had muted the true crime servers he was in. One of those servers was actually Vlad Heartstone’s, which he’d made for Patreon supporters. Once Ivan had logged back into his account on his phone—the app occasionally logged him out for whatever reason—Ivan’s phone didn’t stop vibrating until he finally put it on silent.

Mods on all the true crime servers had needed to step in and tell the others to stop harassing him and the other users from the Pacific northwest, and those mods had PMed Ivan asking if he was okay and needed to temporarily leave the servers. Ivan had said muting would be good enough, and when he opened Discord on his laptop, he tried to ignore the little red bubbles attached to the server icons.

As Sadık talked in the background, this time about their favorite and least favorite fairy tale retellings, Ivan clicked on Gilbert’s icon, which was of Alexander Anderson from  _ Hellsing _ .

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : dude this is some crazy shit

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : yello?

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : s’ok take your time i gotta grade papers

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : my kids are askin if they can get extensions cuz of this

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : i wanted to but boss said no X\ bitchfuck

Chuckling, Ivan started replying.

**General Winter (he/him)** : I vote give them the extensions anyway. Dig out your old chains and eyeliner and stick it to the man!

While he waited for a response, he checked the PM from Mei.

**dING Dong I know that you can hear me~ (she/her)** : sry i sounded like some sociopath yesterday!! i know i shouldn’t be excited about this. i guess i just keep seeing a lot of these guys as just characters ‘cause of allt he podcasts. Mom and Lǎo lao keep telling me that too guess I should listen hey?

**dING Dong I know that you can hear me~ (she/her)** : anyway i didn’t mean to come off so weird and callous about it and i guess part of me figured it was ok since the people that were killed were bad news anyway, but i know that no one deserves to go out LIKE THAT. logically anyway. Like i said, they just all feel like characters sometimes y’know?

Gilbert replied, but Ivan focused on his response to Mei first.

**General Winter (he/him)** : I get it. It can be that way for me too sometimes, so I try to be extra careful and remember that these were all real people that got hurt or killed, which is why I end up taking extended breaks sometimes. I actually had to take a break from writing my book for that reason, which is why I had switched to writing that paranormal romance for a few months.

**General Winter (he/him)** : And yes, before you ask, it’s done, just REALLY unpolished. But I can send it to you if you’re still interested in reading it over.

He switched back to Gilbert’s messages.

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : You’re trying to get me exorcised, aren’t you??

**General Winter (he/him)** : Chick Tract churches do exorcisms? They don’t think that’s too Catholic?

Gilbert wasn’t the biggest fan of the fundementalist private school he worked at, but he claimed he’d felt called to be there in order to be a safe ear for any students who might not have anyone else in their lives they feel they can turn to or trust.

**l0v3sG0dN0tth3Fand0m (he/they)** : Nope. They dig the fire and brimstone angle just not the “idolatry” or “death worship”

Not being able to think of a reply right away, Ivan clicked on the icon belonging to one of Vlad Heartstone’s mods.

**The Lumberjack (he/him)** : OK just let me know if anyone tries harassing you again about details. I realize members can sometimes get excited and forget these are real people getting affected, younger listeners especially, which is why this is an 18+ server, but sometimes kids slip through - Exotic Butters and I already dropped the ban hammer on a few users when we found out they were teenagers - and some people just reach maturity later.

Exotic Butters was another mod, and it was rumored he was dating Vlad, though neither confirmed nor denied the information.

**General Winter (he/him)** : Thank you, and I think I’ll be fine. Steel looked like they were soaking in the attention, which helped draw some of it away from me.

Ivan was about to switch back to his conversation with Gilbert when Lumberjack responded: Funnily enough, Steel’s one of the people we had to kick. He was fourteen and doesn’t even live in the US. It didn’t take long for people to figure that out, which unfortunately caused a new fire with over 20 people getting strikes for harassment.

**General Winter (he/him)** : That explains his “ironic” use of the word “poggers,” then. Anyway, thanks for checking up. This is one of the better servers I’ve been in, so I plan on staying. I just want to stay back for a bit.

**The Lumberjack (he/him)** : Perfectly understandable and take the time you need. I don’t know if you’ve ever said where in the PNW you live, but stay safe!

He added a heart emoji, and Ivan thanked him again before chatting more with Gilbert and sending his paranormal romance draft when Mei came back on and sent five consecutive messages with variations of  _ pretty please _ and different mentions of dessert toppings.

Instead of diving straight back into writing, despite messaging his friends that that’s what he was doing before changing his status to Do Not Disturb, Ivan decided he was due for a break. He clicked on the tab for YouTube and turned up the volume before stretching, cursing when his spine popped.

_ Fuck, I really am almost thirty, _ he thought with a grimace before heading to the fridge as Sadık suggested books based off of pick-up lines sent to them on Grindr and Tinder.

“These four fuck-boys, ever original and clever, all sent me an eggplant—or ‘aubergine’ or whatever else they’re called—followed by drops, and if you don’t know what that means, you’re probably too young to have a YouTube account, so  _ leave  _ before I get fined by the FCC—”

Ivan snorted and dug around the fridge, eventually spotting the last of the cranberry bread Manon had made a couple days ago. He heated it up in the microwave while listening to Sadık suggest  _ Cruel Prince _ by Holly Black, stating that Cardan was one of the ultimate fuck-boys in YA.

“Second only to Rysand. Sorry ACOTAR fans, but you know I’m right.”

Ivan had heard people in one of his DnD servers talk about  _ A Court of Thorns and Roses _ series; the sharp divide between those who love the book and those that hate it reminded him of a more subdued version of the war between the Twihards and the  _ Twilight _ -antis.

His sisters still refused to let him forget about his  _ Team Edward _ poster and his  _ Edward can give me bruises anytime _ pin—which had gotten confiscated by his math teacher who thought it was romanticizing physical abuse, and Ivan had been too embarrassed to explain what it was actually referencing.

Soon as Ivan set a small pot of almond milk on the stove, his cellphone started chiming again, this time with Alfred’s text tone. He found himself smiling as he dug out the hot cocoa mix and hazelnut extract before getting his phone. He brought it back to the kitchen island, the microwave above the oven behind him beeping to remind him he had food in there.

“Don’t set anything on fire!” he heard Manon call from the den as the door opened and closed.

“One time!” he called back, even though he knew she was outside now.

“ _ Two _ times!” Kateryna called from the office, and Ivan rolled his eyes.

“The time when I was six doesn’t count!”

“It does when I get spanked in your place!”

Ivan rolled his eyes again as he opened Alfred’s text:

_ Managed to finish your book between flying the niece to Neptune lol _

Before Ivan could start typing a response, a new text arrived:

_ I’ll start reading again and add notes/comments tonight after I pick up my bro from Everett. Some jackass slashed one of his tires X\ At least they left a note? ‘Sorry my bad didn’t check the plate and thought this was my ex’s car’ I mean wtf right??? _

Ivan’s eyes went wide, and he nearly dropped his phone when he suddenly saw his milk was about to bubble over. He moved the pot to the back burner and quickly typed a response:

_ Holy shit. Glad that person got out of the relationship though! Sounds like a big bullet dodged. Anyway, take your time w the notes. My sister only got part way through, and I have another friend offering her two cents, too. _

If she wasn’t too distracted by the paranormal romance draft Ivan wasn’t sure he wanted to publish, anyway.

Alfred didn’t answer right away, so Ivan set his phone down and turned the heat lower before bringing the pot back to the front burner. He added the cocoa powder and extract, whisking it all together as his phone chimed again.

He set the pot on the back burner again and read Alfred’s text as he went to get his  _ Fuck Off, I’m Writing _ mug.

_ Cool, cool. I don’t usually read this fast, but I LOVED the book and I’m TOTALLY not biased towards how cute the author is, I swear ;) _

Ivan’s whole face flashed red as he set his phone down again to pour the hot chocolate into his mug. His phone chimed again after he added whipped cream.

_ Also I found a couple of those books you suggested on my SiL’s bookshelf _ , Alfred said.  _ The Night Swim and Turn of the Key. I’ll probably get started on the 2nd one after finishing w/ your book :) Sounds cool _

Still grinning, Ivan responded,  _ Hope the maybe-ghosts don’t scare you too much! _

_ I’ll try the freezer trick :), _ Alfred sent.  _ Cat wait for Sunday :D _

The next text was sent as Ivan was still reading:  _ Can’t* _

Then,  _ Y’know let’s say I meant ‘cat.’ Idk what’s your stance on puns? _

Laughing as he brought his mug back to the table, the microwave beeping again, Ivan sent back,  _ The cheesier the better _ .

Alfred said he could work with that before announcing he was going out for a run and would have to leave his phone behind to charge while driving down to pick up his brother.

Ivan wished him a safe drive and got his cranberry bread, settling down to listen to Sadık compare and contrast different YA and adult mystery thrillers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry nothing much happens in this chapter, I wanted to introduce a couple more characters, since I want to bring in most of the potential suspects for Avenger early on. I'm also unsure if I want to include any chapters showing police procedure about the case (I'm still seesawing about who the lead investigator is; I considered Ludwig at first, but he'd be too young and realistically wouldn't have made detective yet), so feel free to let me know if those are chapters y'all are interested in :)
> 
> PS While Gilbert in this AU uses multiple pronouns (he and they), similar to the character Alecks, I will stick he/him for this chapter, but it may change to they/them in following chapters before switching back again to he/him. I'll do my best to keep it clear who I'm talking about, though. I'm still new to writing characters that use multiple pronouns and am trying to learn how to do it that portrays this well while also keeping everything easy to read.


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